“It is fine!” murmured Hazelton; “and the view is grand!” he continued, his eyes on the distant hills. Then he turned abruptly. “Ladies, I believe in coming straight to the point. I want a summer home, and--I want this one. Can I tempt you to part with it?”
“Indeed, no!” began Rachel almost fiercely. Then her voice sank to a whisper; “I--I don’t think you could.”
“But, sister,” interposed Tabitha, her face alight, “you know you said-- that is, there are circumstances--perhaps he would--p-pay enough--” Her voice stumbled over the hated word, then stopped, while her face burned scarlet.
“Pay!--no human mortal could pay for this house!” flashed Rachel indignantly. Then she turned to Hazelton, her slight form drawn to its greatest height, and her hands crushing the flowers, she held till the brittle stems snapped, releasing a fluttering shower of scarlet and gold. “Mr. Hazelton, to carry out certain wishes very near to our hearts, we need money. We will show you the place, and--and we will consider your offer,” she finished faintly. It was a dreary journey the sisters took that morning, though the garden never had seemed lovelier, nor the rooms more sacredly beautiful. In the end, Hazelton’s offer was so fabulously enormous to their unwilling ears that their conscience forbade them to refuse it.
“I’ll have the necessary papers ready to sign in a few days,” said the lawyer as the two gentlemen turned to go. And Hazelton added: “If at any time before that you change your minds and find you cannot give it up-- just let me know and it will be all right. Just think it over till then,” he said kindly, the dumb woe in their eyes appealing to him as the loudest lamentations could not have done. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to have an architect, who is in town just now, come up and look it over with me,” he finished.
“Certainly, sir, certainly,” said Rachel, longing for the man to go. But when he was gone, she wished him back--anything would be better than this aimless wandering from room to room, and from yard to garden and back again.
“I suppose he will sit here,” murmured Tabitha, dropping wearily on to the settee under the apple-trees.
“I suppose so,” her sister assented. “I wonder if she knows how to grow roses; they’ll certainly die if she doesn’t!” And Rachel crushed a worm under her foot with unnecessary vigor.
“Oh, I hope they’ll tend to the vines on the summerhouse, Rachel, and the pansies--you don’t think they’ll let them run to seed, do you? Oh, dear!” And Tabitha sprang nervously to her feet and started back to the house.
Mr. Hazelton appeared the next morning with two men--an architect and a landscape gardener. Rachel was in the summerhouse, and the first she knew of their presence was the sound of talking outside.