"No—no—I am quite sane, thank you," she replied, "and perfectly cool-headed; you may remember that as a child I was very sharp at seeing things that never occurred to other people. The faculty has not deserted me. I believe all women are possessed of an instinct, and recognise love when they see it. Dear Elinor, do forgive me," she pleaded, and her voice broke, "because I love you, and I have so few to love. If I do not speak to you—who will dare? My sight is terribly keen—I cannot help it—I cannot help seeing that Philip does not love me—that Alan Lindsay does love you." She paused for a moment, threw back her hair, and went on, standing directly before her companion, who sat on the side of the cot with a countenance as expressionless as a mask, "You are beautiful—you are sympathetic—you are good," continued the girl in a clear ringing voice, "all the world knows you, as the admirable wife of—a block—of Aberdeen granite. Half the young men and the girls in the district have come under your influence—which has always been noble and pure. It is as far-reaching and penetrating as the sun—it is your responsibility; and now love has come to claim you—and you are in danger, or why these long walks, and absorbing conversations, and early strolls to see the sun rise, and late strolls to see the moon rise? No one has recognised the danger but we three—you and I and Mr. Lindsay. You must send him away—before it is too late."
With her white robe, flowing locks, and earnest and impassioned face, Angel might almost have stood for a picture of her namesake.
"It is strange," began her companion in a husky voice, "that you should be exhorting me—a woman who is fourteen years older than yourself—who remembers you a child."
"Yes, it is strange—it is, I'm afraid, unpardonable. I expect you will send me back to Marwar to-morrow, and I am ready to go. I feel that I must speak, and risk your friendship—for your own sake;" then she added, "Oh, have I not said, and seen—what is true?"
The immediate answer was long delayed, then suddenly Mrs. Gordon bent her head upon her hands, and burst into tears; at last she looked up with streaming eyes, and said:
"Yes, your vision is clear;—I will not palter or fight off, or equivocate,—I do love Alan. Oh, what a relief it is to speak aloud, what I have scarcely dared to whisper to my own heart. Love has come to me at last; hitherto I have starved in the midst of plenty, now cruel fate has brought me a great gift—which I may not accept. I nursed Alan back to life—he had gone to the very edge of the grave, and he says my voice recalled him; that he loved me, only dawned upon me recently; he has never dared to tell me in so many words, but I know it, and the fact fills me with almost intolerable joy. My husband is cold and formal; I was freezing into the same mould. Alan has melted my heart; I've warmed my hands before the fire of life——"
"Yes," interrupted Angel, finishing the quotation, "but it does not sink—nor are you ready to depart! Elinor, I beseech you, send Mr. Lindsay away. You are not as other women—you have a name and example to live up to; your influence has been like a star, which, if it falls, means black darkness to hundreds."
"You need not be afraid, Angel," said Mrs. Gordon with a sob; "I will never succumb—with God's help—but you do not realise what it is, to starve and shiver for years, and then be offered your heart's desire, only to refuse it; a supreme influence seems to have taken possession of me, undefinable, and impalpable, but real and actual, as light or the electric current. But I see that you despise me; in your eyes I have fallen from my high estate," and she rose and threw her arms tightly round Angel. "Yes, I despise myself."
"Promise me that you will send him away," whispered Angel.
"Yes, yes—that I promise. When we return to Marwar, he goes to England, and we shall never—never—meet again. Oh—never."