‘A little more apart—among these trees. It is an old man’s hand, Miss Haredale; an honest one, believe me.’
She put hers in it as he said these words, and suffered him to lead her to a neighbouring seat.
‘You alarm me, sir,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You are not the bearer of any ill news, I hope?’
‘Of none that you anticipate,’ he answered, sitting down beside her. ‘Edward is well—quite well. It is of him I wish to speak, certainly; but I have no misfortune to communicate.’
She bowed her head again, and made as though she would have begged him to proceed; but said nothing.
‘I am sensible that I speak to you at a disadvantage, dear Miss Haredale. Believe me that I am not so forgetful of the feelings of my younger days as not to know that you are little disposed to view me with favour. You have heard me described as cold-hearted, calculating, selfish—’
‘I have never, sir,’—she interposed with an altered manner and a firmer voice; ‘I have never heard you spoken of in harsh or disrespectful terms. You do a great wrong to Edward’s nature if you believe him capable of any mean or base proceeding.’
‘Pardon me, my sweet young lady, but your uncle—’
‘Nor is it my uncle’s nature either,’ she replied, with a heightened colour in her cheek. ‘It is not his nature to stab in the dark, nor is it mine to love such deeds.’
She rose as she spoke, and would have left him; but he detained her with a gentle hand, and besought her in such persuasive accents to hear him but another minute, that she was easily prevailed upon to comply, and so sat down again.