Well—we smile now, at these days, as I said; thank God, we can smile; but it would not do to live them over again.
Max refused to let me come to see him at Mrs. Ansdell's, until my father had been informed of all our plans. But papa went on in his daily life, now so active and cheerful; he did not seem to remember anything concerning Doctor Urquhart and me. For two whole days did I follow him about, watching an opportunity, but it never came. The first person who learnt my secret was Penelope.
How many a time, in these strange summers to come, shall I call to mind that soft English summer night, under the honeysuckle-bush,—Penelope and I sitting at our work; she talking the while of Lisabel's new hope, and considering which of us two should best be spared to go and take care of her in her trial.
“Or, indeed, papa might almost be left alone, for a week or two. He would hardly miss us—he is so well. I should not wonder, if, like grandfather, whom you don't remember, Dora,—he lived to be ninety years old.”
“I hope he may; I hope he may!”
And I burst out sobbing; then, hanging about my sister's neck, I told her all.
“Oh!” I cried, for my tongue seemed unloosed, and I was not afraid of speaking to her, nor even of hurting her—if now she could be hurt by the personal sorrows that mine recalled to her mind. “Oh, Penelope, don't you think it would be right? Papa does not want me—nobody wants me. Or if they did—”
I stopped. Penelope said, meditatively:—“A man shall leave his father and his mother and cleave unto his wife.”
“And equally, a woman ought to cleave unto her husband. I mean to ask my father's consent to my going with Max to Canada.”
“Ah! that's sudden, child.” And by her start of pain I felt how untruly I had spoken, and how keenly I must have wounded my sister in saying, “Nobody wanted me” at home.