“I will give our love time to grow. When we come back, if Brune has been true to me in every way, he may fall to 207 blessing himself with both hands;” and then she began to sing,—
“Betide, betide, whatever betide,
Love shall be Lord of Sandy-Side!”
“Love is a burden two hearts carry very easily together, but, oh, Sarah! I know how hard it is to bear it alone. Therefore I say, be kind to Brune while you can.”
“My dear, your idea is a very pretty one. I read the other day a Hindu version of it that smelled charmingly of the soil,—
‘A clapping is not made with one hand alone:
Your love, my beloved, must answer my own.’”
But in spite of such reflections, Sarah’s will and intellect were predominant, and she left poor Brune with only such hope as he could glean from the lingering pressure of her hand and the tears in her eyes. Aspatria’s pleading had done no good. Perhaps it had done harm; for the very nature of love is that it should be spontaneous.