“See here, my dear. Consider how I loved and trusted that man from my youth up. He was older than myself. He was my mentor, my guide, philosopher and friend. I could no more have doubted his honor than I could have doubted yours.”
The lady winced.
“Think of it, my dear. Do you wonder that I am sorely perplexed at what I hear of him? Or that I wish to hear what he has to say for himself? Suppose any one—Anglesea, for instance, before I had heard a word against him, when I loved and trusted him most—had come to me and said: ‘Your sister, whom you love and honor so much, has forfeited both love and honor——’ Elfrida! Heavens! What is the matter?” suddenly exclaimed the earl, as the lady sank back pallid and fainting in her chair.
“It is——Go on,” said the sister, recovering herself with an effort. “Nothing is the matter. You were saying that if Anglesea had come to you with slanders of your sister——What would you have done?”
“I should have knocked him down and kicked him out, first of all, as a preliminary to challenging him. Be sure I should not have believed his story told behind your back. And I am certain you would not wish me to be less just to Anglesea than to you.”
“Very well. I do not believe he will ever dare to show his face in England again; but if he should, and you should meet him, make the charge that we have made and see how he will meet it. Of course he will deny all and accuse his accusers of conspiracy.”
“It is all very painful and very perplexing, but do not think otherwise than that I will stand by you and yours, Elfrida, under all circumstances.”
“I am quite sure that you will, dear Francis,” replied the lady; and their talk drifted to other topics.
“I shall miss you very much, sister, when you go abroad,” he said at length.
“But I shall not go, Francis. I shall remain with you. I have been over the continent so often that I do not care to see it again,” replied the lady.