"And—did he not—love you?" Kathleen whispered and wondered at her own voice, for it trembled so strangely, it was so filled with eagerness, with fear and yet with hope.
"He was mine—mine!" the girl said passionately. "For 'twas he I saw here in this old garden many, many times—and I knew him, my lady, and yet—yet when I would have felt his kisses on my lips, he held away from me—and oh I be all broken hearted, I be, and now he be set against me and wishful of my going away for ever, but I can't, I can't, I would sooner die! And that night here—here my lady, in the garden, he was all stern and angry wi' I! He told me that I must go, that it would be for my good and that I should be happy and—and he told me my lady as he was afraid of I, afraid—they were his very words!"
"Thank God he was afraid!" Kathleen thought. "Thank God for his fears, for they did him honour. Oh I was wrong, he is all I thought him, all I believed him, even better, stronger, braver, thank God!"
"And he told me," Betty went on in her low sobbing voice, "that I were to come to him here in the garden in three nights, 'twere Monday then and to-morrow night I be to see him here and tell him what I will do—if—if I will go far, far away and be wise and sensible—but I can't—I can't 'twould break my heart!"
"It will not dear," Kathleen said. "It will not, Betty!" Her arm tightened about the girl, she was such a child, did not her very confession prove it? "It seems very hard to bear now Betty, but you must be brave and good and sensible, it will be far, far better that you do not see Allan, my husband, again, for it is not for your happiness to see him. I do not understand, Betty, nor do I think that even you and he understand, it is all so strange—so—so unusual! But I shall send you away——" she paused. It was so easy to say "I will send you away," yet where could she send the child? For a moment she pondered and then it came to her like a flash of inspiration.
"You shall go away Betty quietly and no one need know of your going and to-morrow I will tell him that you are gone and that you and he will not meet again. You will be happy, very happy with those to whom I shall send you. Will you trust me, Betty?"
"Trust 'ee——." The girl caught her hand and kissed it passionately. "And—and bain't I to see him again, never?"
"It will be better not, Betty!"
Betty leaned against her sobbing—"I du love him——" she sobbed, "and it will be terribul to go and never see him again!"
"Had you thrown yourself into the water to-night you would never have seen him again and you would have caused him grief and sorrow, Betty, so—so dear it is better you should go quietly, and live and be happy, for you will be happy, child and you will forget! You are only a child, Betty, and—and I—I know what a child's love means, it is seldom the real love—it will pass, for such love does pass, I know, Betty! And then—then one day the real love, the love of all your life will come to you and you will look back on these memories and smile at them and when that day comes, Betty——" Kathleen's voice shook a little, "then—then, child, go down on your knees and thank God that you gave your child's love to a good and noble man, a man who respected it—and you—and—and was afraid—dear!"