Lady Darrell went up to the girl. She laid her hands on her arm appealingly, and raised her face with a pleading expression.
"Pauline," she said, her lips trembling with emotion, "after all, I was your uncle's wife; for his sake you might show me a little kindness. Marriage is a tie for life, not a bond for one day. Oh, Pauline, Pauline, if there is any reason why I should not marry Aubrey Langton, tell it—for Heaven's sake, tell it! Your manner is always so strange to him; if you know anything against him, tell me now before it is too late—tell me!"
There fell over them a profound silence, broken only by the sweet, cheery music of a bird singing in the cedar tree, and the faint sighing of the wind among the leaves.
"Tell me, for Heaven's sake!" repeated Lady Darrell, her grasp tightening on Pauline's arm.
"I have nothing to tell," was the curt reply. "Pray do not hold my arm so tightly, Lady Darrell; I have nothing to tell."
"Do not deceive me—there must be some reason for your strange manner. Tell it to me now, before it is too late."
There was almost an agony of pleading in her face and voice, but Pauline turned resolutely away, leaving her beneath the cedar alone.
"I must be mistaken," Lady Darrell thought. "What can she know of him? I must be wrong to doubt him; surely if I doubt him I shall doubt Heaven itself. It is her manner—her awkward manner—nothing more."
And she tried her best to dismiss all thoughts of Pauline from her mind, and give herself to her newly-found happiness.
"Pauline," said Miss Hastings, sorrowfully, when she rejoined the girl, "I cannot understand you."