“If Mr. Rossiter were not her cousin, do you think she would marry him?”
“I have no doubt of it,” Margery replied. “She fancies she does not love him in that way, as she expresses it, but if the obstacle of cousinship were removed, I believe she would feel differently. Poor little girl, she is so cast down and wretched, thinking she has driven him away to die, as she declares he will.”
Mrs. La Rue had listened intently to all Margery told her of Reinette’s distress, and there were tears in her eyes as she cleared away the tea things, and busied herself with her household cares.
“Poor little girl,” she whispered to herself. “Would her love for him outweigh everything—everything, I wonder? Is it mightier than her pride?”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MRS. LA RUE’S RESOLUTION.
There was a worn, tired look on Mrs. La Rue’s face next morning, which she accounted for by saying she had not slept well, and that her head was aching. A walk in the crisp autumn air would do her good, she said; and soon after breakfast she left the house, and started toward Hetherton Place. Twice on the causeway she sat down to rest, and once on the bank by the side of the road which led up the long hill. Here she sat for a long time, with her head bowed upon her knees, while she seemed to be absorbed in painful, and even agonized reflection, for she rocked to and fro, and whispered occasionally to herself. In the distance there was the sound of wheels—some one was coming; and not caring to be seen, she arose, and climbing the low stone wall, went up the steep hill-side to the ledge of rocks, where Phil had sat with Queenie and heard his doom. It was the first time Mrs. La Rue had ever been there, and for a moment she stood transfixed with surprise and delight at the lovely view before her. In the clear autumn air objects were visible for miles and miles away, but it was not so much at the distant landscape she gazed as at the scene directly about her—at the broad, rich acres of Hetherton Place, stretching away to the westward, and southward, and eastward, and embracing some of the most valuable land in Merrivale; at the house itself, standing there on the heights so stately and grand, with aristocracy and blood showing themselves from every casement and door-post; and lastly, at the beautiful grounds, so like the parks of some of the old chateaus in France, with their terraces, and winding walks, and pieces of statuary gleaming here and there among the evergreens.
“A goodly heritage truly,” the woman said. “And would she give it all for love? God only knows, and I can only know by trying. If she will see me, I must go forward; if she refuses, I shall take it as a sign that I must forevermore keep silent.”
Thus deciding, she walked quickly across the fields, and soon stood ringing at the door, which was opened by Pierre himself.
“Miss Hetherton was still in her room,” he said, “but he would take any message madame chose to give him;” and his manner showed plainly the great distance he felt there was between his mistress and the woman who, he knew, was born in the same rank of life as himself.