"Yes;—I think it would. And the archdeacon is very rich, and can leave all his money away from Major Grantly if he pleases. Think what I should feel if I were the cause of Edith losing her fortune!"
"But why do you suppose these terrible things?"
"I have a reason for supposing them. This must be a secret. Miss Anne Prettyman wrote to me."
"I wish Miss Anne Prettyman's hand had been in the fire."
"No, mamma; no; she was right. Would not I have wished, do you think, to have learned all the truth about the matter before I answered him? Besides, it made no difference. I could have made no other answer while papa is under such a terrible ban. It is no time for us to think of being in love. We have got to love each other. Isn't it so, mamma?" The mother did not answer in words, but slipping down on her knees before her child threw her arms round her girl's body in a close embrace. "Dear mamma; dearest mamma; this is what I wanted;—that you should love me!"
"Love you, my angel!"
"And trust me;—and that we should understand each other, and stand close by each other. We can do so much to comfort one another;—but we cannot comfort other people."
"He must know that best himself, Grace;—but what did he say more to you?"
"I don't think he said anything more."
"He just left you then?"