“But you are not of age to make a resignation of these fancied claims legal, even should I consent to unite my son to this nameless girl.”
“I am of age to resist all action, and have a will strong as any law. If I am silent regarding my claims, who will or can urge them?”
“But we have only your word!” she said, softening in her tone, and interrupting her questions with intervals of thought.
“But in your heart you know that to be enough. Strive as you will, my truth will make itself believed.”
She waved her hand, rising.
“Stay here, I will speak with my son. Perhaps you have not breakfasted; ring and the man will provide fresh chocolate. After all, this is a strange offer.”
CHAPTER LV.
SELF-ABNEGATION.
Lady Catherine went out, and I was alone, trembling, helpless, filled with desolation—the poor, poor gipsy girl. What had Cora done that she should be made so happy, and I so miserable? I sat down stupefied with the blank darkness that had fallen around my existence. The estate, the pomp, the rank that I had given up were nothing; but Irving—oh, how my poor heart quivered and shrunk from the thought that he was another’s forever and ever. In all the wide world, that desolate barranca in Granada seemed the only spot gloomy enough to conceal misery like mine!
A full hour I remained with my elbow upon the little breakfast-table seated among the cushions, unmindful of their luxurious softness as if they had been so many rocks heaped near me. I could only feel dumbly that with my own hand I had cast all hope from me. This thought revolved itself over and over in my mind, I could neither change nor shake it off.
At last the door opened and Lady Catherine came in, followed by her son. He was greatly changed. All the bloom of boyhood had settled into a look of thoughtful manliness; his eyes, almost sad, were deeper and more piercing; his manner, grave; traces of anxiety lingered about his eyes and mouth, making one firm and leaving shadows beneath the other. He came close to me and rested one hand on the table. I did not rise, but sat trembling and helpless beneath the reproachful pride in his glance. The apathy had left me; my heart swelled with the painful joy of his presence, and every nerve thrilled back its sympathy.