“What shall you do?”
“Yes; I am divided between my sister and my friend. There! I must speak out. It would be the saving of Leo if she could become North’s wife; and yet, much as I love her and wish for her happiness, I feel as if I am being unjust to North to let matters go farther.”
Mary lay back with her eyes half closed for some minutes before she felt that she could trust her voice so that it should not betray her.
“It would be for Leo’s happiness could she say truly that she could love and honour Horace North,” Mary whispered at last; “but it will never be, Hartley. Leo will never marry as we wish.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Salis sadly; “and the more I think of it, the more it seems to me that you have hit upon North’s trouble. Leo’s anxiety about that scoundrel has disgusted poor Horace. What shall I do?”
“Your friend is ill,” said Mary sadly; “act as a friend should. Leave the rest: we can do nothing there.”
“My poor darling!” said Salis, “you are the good angel of our little home. There, I’ll go to North at once.”
Meanwhile a conversation was going on in Leo’s room.
She had suffered intensely during the past few days, which had seemed to her like months of suspense and agony. Every stroke at the door had seemed to be a visitor to expose her to her brother, or else she believed it was North coming to reproach her; and, though she told herself that she would be defiant and could tell him he was mad ever to have thought about her, she shivered at each step upon the gravel.
The scene in the vestry had shaken her nerves terribly. The news of Tom Candlish’s serious injuries had added to her trouble; and, combined with this, there was the horrible suspense as to her lover’s state. In a way, she was a prisoner, and any attempt to hear news of the sufferer at the Hall would bring down upon her an angry reproof from her brother.