"And this is the genuine thing, Rachel? Do you remember our talk last summer?"
Rachel was silent a moment.
"All I can say is," she said, brokenly, "that I thank God, day and night, that Mr. Tristram did not marry me—that I'm free to marry Hugh."
Hester's uncrippled hand stole into Rachel's.
"Everybody will think," said Rachel, "when they see the engagement in to-morrow's papers that I give him everything because he is poor and his place involved, and of course I am horribly wealthy. But in reality it is I who am poor and he who is rich. He has given me a thousand times more than I could ever give him, because he has given me back the power of loving. It almost frightens me that I can care so much a second time. I should not have thought it possible. But I seem to have got the hang of it now, as Mr. Dick would say. I wish you were down-stairs, Hester, as you will be in a day or two. You would be amused by the way he shocks Miss Keane. She asked if he had written anything on his travels, and he said he was on the point of bringing out a little book on 'Cannibal Cookery,' for the use of Colonials. He said some of the recipes were very simple. He began: 'You take a hand and close it round a yam.' But the Bishop stopped him."
The moment Rachel had said, "He is on the point of bringing out a book," her heart stood still. How could she have said such a thing? But apparently Hester took no notice.
"He must have been experimenting on my poor hand," she said. "I'm sure I never burned it like this myself."
"It will soon be better now."
"Oh! I don't mind about it now that it doesn't hurt all the time."
"And your head does not ache to-day, does it?"