"The people who hated each other all came to be friends in the Forest."
Fragments like these floated in to Celia. Then she heard Maurice Roberta's voice saying, "Let's go farther down the slope." She went to the door of the arbor and looked out. As she had suspected, Maurice's companion was the girl she had encountered in the cemetery, Rosalind carried her hat in her hand, and as they crossed an open space the sunshine turned her hair to gold.
Celia went back to her work. "It will all come right in the end,"—this was what Morgan had told her yesterday; it was strange that this child should cross her path again, and with the same message.
"Even people who hated each other came to be friends in the Forest." To travel always in the Forest! How restful the idea! How would it seem not to hate anybody? To be really at peace? But it was not possible for her.
Her thoughts would persist in dwelling upon Rosalind Whittredge. Again she recalled with shame the impulse that made her scorn the rose. She was glad she had picked it up and carried it home. Why should she have any feeling against Patterson Whittredge's daughter? Had not her father taken Patterson's side in the family trouble over his marriage? Ah, but that was long ago, and it was hard to forget that Rosalind, with her sweet, serious eyes, was after all Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter, Genevieve's niece.
"I wish she wasn't, and that I could see her and speak to her, and ask her what she means by the Forest," she thought. "She is gentle and sweet; she is not like the Whittredges. Why should I dislike her because she belongs to them? Oh, it is dreadful to hate people!" Celia hid her face in her hands, "but I do—I do," she added.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH
THE ARDEN FORESTERS
"Like the old Robin Hood of England."