“I had forgotten,” muttered Captain Rothesay to himself. “Of course, she will never marry. Poor child!—poor child!”
He kissed her very tenderly, then lighted his candle, and went upstairs to bed, holding her hand all the way, until they parted at her room door, when he kissed her a second time. As he did so, she contrived to whisper—
“Mamma is sure to wake; she always does when you come in. Kiss mamma, too.”
Olive went to bed, happier than she could have believed possible, had any one told her in the morning that ere night she would hear the ill news of having to leave beautiful Merivale. But it was so sweet to feel herself a comfort to both parents—they who, alas! would receive no comfort from each other.
Only, just when she was falling asleep, the thought floated across Olive's mind—
“I wonder why papa said that, of course, I should never marry!”
CHAPTER XI.
“Dear mamma, is not this a pretty house, even though it is in a town?—so pretty, one need hardly pine after Merri-vale.”
Thus said Olive when they had been established some time in their new abode, and sat together, one winter evening, listening to the sweet bells of Oldchurch—one of the few English parishes where lingers “the curfew's solemn sound.”