“Yes, they came up to a hunting-lodge, some miles back in the mountains, that Lord Clare used to live in years ago; his death made them all too gloomy for society, and they came quietly up here.”
“And does Lady Clare know—that is, does she consent that you reside so near?”
“I never asked; he thought it best, and I could not endure to stay in London alone; but after a little, no one will care if she does know. When all is settled, you see, papa can come and live with us at Marston Court.”
I shuddered; how cruelly each word went to my heart—they would live at Marston Court then. A jealous pang shot through me at the bare idea; and yet if her dream should prove unreal, how terrible must her fate be. The interview was becoming painful beyond endurance. I arose, she clung to me caressingly.
“You will come again, Zana; I have some things on my mind that trouble me besides my poor father.”
“But shall I find you alone?”
“I am almost always alone,” she replied, sadly.
“To-morrow,” I said, “be ready and we will go out on the lake together, and talk over everything. Would you like that, Cora?”
She smiled, and her soft eyes sparkled through their mistiness; poor, young thing, she was half unconscious yet of the misery that lay before her. She kissed me over and over again as I left, and when our boat was upon the lake, I looked back and saw her standing in the little casement, framed in, like a sorrowing cherub, by the crimsoned vines.