“Yes,” I replied, crushing down the longing to take her in my arms and let her tell it there.
“Mr. Hall had a talk with me this morning. He says that he and the others have searched everywhere possible for the will, and it cannot be found. He says Uncle Joseph must have destroyed it, and that it is practically settled that Uncle Philip is the legal heir. Of course, Mr. Philip Crawford isn't my uncle, but I have always called him that, and Phil and I have been just like cousins.”
“What else did Mr. Hall say?” I asked, for I divined that the difficult part of her recital was yet to come.
“He said,” she went on, with a rising color, “that he wished me to break our engagement.”
I will do myself the justice to say that although my first uncontrollable thought was one of pure joy at this revelation, yet it was instantly followed by sympathy and consideration for her.
“Why?” I asked in a voice that I tried to keep from being hard.
“He says,” she continued, with a note of weariness in her voice, “that he is not a rich man, and cannot give me the comforts and luxuries to which I have been accustomed, and that therefore it is only right for him to release me.”
“Of course you didn't accept his generous sacrifice,” I said; and my own hopes ran riot as I listened for her answer.
“I told him I was willing to share poverty with him,” she said, with a quiet dignity, as if telling an impersonal tale, “but he insisted that the engagement should be broken.”
“And is it?” I asked eagerly, almost breathlessly.