Eleanor lifted her head suddenly, and looked full in the widow’s face.
“No, madam,” she answered, proudly, “I do not.”
“Thank God for that! Even if you had loved him, I would not have shrunk from asking you to sacrifice yourself for his happiness. As it is, I appeal to you without hesitation. Will you leave this place; will you leave me my son, with the chance of planning his future after my own fashion?”
“I will, Mrs. Darrell,” Eleanor said, earnestly. “I thought, perhaps, till to-day—I may have fancied that I—I mean that I was flattered by your son’s attention, and perhaps believed I loved him a little,” the girl murmured, shyly; “but I know now that I have been mistaken. Perhaps it is the truth and intensity of your love that shows me the shallowness and falsehood of my own. I remember how I loved my father,”—her eyes filled with tears as she spoke,—“and, looking back at my feelings for him, I know that I do not love Mr. Darrell. It will be much better for me to go away. I shall be sorry to leave Laura—sorry to leave Hazlewood; for I have been very happy here—too happy perhaps. I will write to your son, and tell him that I leave this place of my own free will.”
“Thank you, my dear,” the widow said, warmly; “my son would be very hard with me if he thought that my influence had been the means of thwarting any whim of his. I know him well enough to know that this sentiment, like every other sentiment of his, will not endure for ever. He will be angry, and offended, and wounded by your departure; but he will not break his heart, Miss Vincent.”
“Let me go away at once, Mrs. Darrell,” said Eleanor; “it will be better for me to go at once. I can return to my friends in London. I have saved some money while I have been with you, and I shall not go back to them penniless.”
“You are a generous and noble-hearted girl! It shall be my care to provide you with at least as good a home as you have had here. I am not selfish enough to forget how much I have asked of you.”
“And you will let me go at once. I would rather not see Laura, or say good-bye to her; we have grown so fond of each other. I never had a sister—at least never an affectionate sister—and Laura has been like one to me. Let me go away quietly without seeing her, Mrs. Darrell; I can write to her from London to say good-bye.”
“You shall do just as you like, my dear,” the widow answered. “I will drive you over to Windsor in time for the four o’clock train, and you will get into town before dark. I must go now and see what my son is doing. If he should suspect——”
“He shall suspect nothing till I am gone,” said Eleanor. “It is past one o’clock now, Mrs. Darrell, and I must pack all my things. Will you keep Laura out of my room, please, for if she came here, she’d guess——?”