"You wonder, Margaret, why I sent for you?"
"Did you send, really, Mr. Brand? I thought that perhaps Stephen had made a mistake and that Elsie wished to see me for some reason."
"No, Elsie has been absent all the morning, and may not return for an hour or two yet," was the reply. "I sent for you. I had a reason. Old men do not trifle with young women, perhaps you are aware." There was that in his voice which displayed strong suffering and even an effort to speak. The young girl saw and heard, and the wonder in her eyes deepened into anxiety as she said:
"You surprise me by something in your manner, Mr. Brand. You almost alarm me. Pray do not keep me in suspense. I think I am not so well able to bear anxiety and mystery as I used to be. Why did you send for me?"
"Poor girl!" the lips of Robert Brand muttered, so low that she did not catch the words. Much less did she hear the two words that followed, in little more than a whispered groan: "Poor girl!—poor father!" Then he took one of the white hands in his, the eyes of the young girl deepening in wonder and anxiety all the while,—led her a little down the path to one of the rustic seats under the trellis, dropped down upon it and drew her down beside him, uttering a sigh, as he took his seat, like that of a person over-fatigued.
"You loved my son." He did not look at her as he spoke the words.
"Mr. Brand—I beg of you—" and then Margaret Hayley paused, her throat absolutely choked with that to which she could not give utterance. He did not seem to heed her, but went on.
"You loved my son. So did I. God knows how I loved him, and I believe that your love was as true as heaven."
"Mr. Brand—for that heaven's sake, why do you say this, to kill us both? I cannot listen—" she rose from the seat with a start and stood before him as if ready to fly; but he yet retained her hand and drew her down again.
"We both loved him, and yet we killed him! You drove him from you. I cast him off and cursed him. We killed him. He is dead!"