"I will tell him what thou sayest," in a weak tone as if she was hardly persuaded.
Rachel caught her hand, which was soft as a rose leaf, and wrung it in hers until she could have cried with pain.
"Nay, not in that cold way. Thou hast the eyes and the tongue to move whomever thou wilt, and he set strange store by thee. Men often yield to a honeyed voice. Coax him, convince him it is his duty. Otherwise their sorrow and, perhaps, their death may be on his hands, and neither wilt thou be altogether free. That was my errand and the Lord gave me strength to come, though women do not generally plead for their lovers."
"I will try," Primrose said, much moved.
But she sat by herself after Rachel had left her, thinking the matter over with a curious protest that she did not understand. Why should she shrink from his marrying Rachel? She had seen many lovers through the winter, and Anabella had poured into her ears a great deal of foolish-sounding flattery, and delight on her part, that had caused Primrose much wonder. And now her gay captain had followed the fortunes of Sir Henry Clinton, and she was in despair, though he had promised to return.
But she asked Madam Wetherill what she ought to do. The lady gave an odd little smile.
"You must tell him, since you have consented. But it will not change his intentions. His enlisting was no sudden notion, if he was forced into it by circumstances. I wonder at Mistress Rachel making this appeal."
"Do you think he ought to marry her?" Primrose asked timidly.
"That is a question for him to answer, my child."
But Madam Wetherill knew if he had been in love with Rachel he would have made some overtures himself.