“I am speaking for Rebecca as well as for myself, then, Henry, when I tell you that we have concluded that the only way in which our old happy relations can be continued will be by separating.”
“Parting?” said the vicar, in dismay.
“Yes, Henry; by parting. Rebecca and I have a sufficiency, by clubbing together our slender resources, to enable us to live a life of content. A life of usefulness, we fear, will no longer be within our reach, for we shall have to leave our poor behind. But that we must be resigned to lose, for it is time, Henry, that we left you free and were—”
“No longer a tax upon you and an obstacle in the path of your inclinations,” said Rebecca.
“But surely—you do not mean—you would not leave the Vicarage?”
“We have carefully weighed the matter over, Henry,” said Rebecca, “and I do not see how, under the circumstances, you could wish us to do otherwise.”
“No, no, it is impossible!” cried the vicar, who seemed deeply moved. “Beatrice—Rebecca, of what are you thinking?”
“Of our duty and your happiness,” said Beatrice firmly.
“At the expense of your own,” exclaimed the vicar.
“We must do our duty,” said Rebecca with a sigh, and the sisters rose and left the room, like clever diplomatists, content with the impression they had made, and feeling that by a bold stroke they had completely riveted their old mastery.