She was very much excited, and her eyes shone like stars as she stood before Everard, who looked at her curiously, with a thought that her mind might really be unsettled.
“Sit down, Rossie, and compose yourself,” he said, trying to draw her back to the couch; but she would not sit down, and she went on rapidly:
“I told you how I managed to talk with your father, and to find out that he wanted to forgive you, but I did not tell you the rest. I thought I’d wait till it came to me what I was to do, and it has come. I know now just what he meant. He was not quiet after the forgiveness, as I thought he’d be, but his eyes followed me everywhere, and said as plain as eyes could say, ‘There is something more;’ so I began to question him again, and found it was about you and another person. That person was myself, and I was to do something when I found out what it was. I said, ‘Is it something I am to do for Mr. Everard?’ and his eyes went to the window; then I asked, ‘Shall I some day know what it is?’ and he answered ‘Yes.’ Then I said, ‘I’ll surely, surely do it,’ and the poor, helpless face laughed up at me, he was so pleased and happy. After that he was very quiet. So you know he meant me to give the money back, and you will not refuse me now?”
For a moment Everard could not speak. As Rossie talked, the great tears had gathered slowly and dropped upon his face. He could see so vividly the scene which she described,—the dim, eager eyes of his dead father trying to communicate with the anxious, excited little girl, who had, perhaps, interpreted their meaning aright. There could be but little doubt that his father, when his passion cooled down, was sorry for the rash act, and Everard was deeply moved by it, and for a little space of time felt uncertain how to act, but when he remembered who must share his fortune with him, and all his father had said of her, he grew hard and decided again, and said to Rosamond:
“I am glad you told me this, Rossie. It makes it easier to bear, feeling that possibly father was sorry, and wished to make reparation, but that does not change the facts, nor the will. He gave everything to you, and you cannot give it to me now, if you would. You are not of age, you see.”
“Do you mean,” Rosamond asked, “that even if you would take the money, I cannot give it back till I am twenty-one?”
“Not lawfully, no,” Everard replied; and Rossie exclaimed, almost angrily:
“I can; I will. I know there is some way, and I’ll find it out. I will not have it so, and I think you are mean to be so proud and stiff.”
She was losing all patience with Everard for what she deemed his obduracy; her head was aching dreadfully, and after this outburst she sank down again upon the couch, and burying her face in the pillow told him to go away and not come again till he could do as she wished him to do. It was not often that Rosamond was thus moved, and Everard smiled in spite of himself at her wrath, but went out and left her alone as she desired.