He shook his head, and said, sadly enough:
“It is quite useless, my dear little sister, to ask me to bring him, for he has refused to come. He is angry still, as I told you, and he will not see you until the hour of the ceremony that makes you again his wife!”
She stared at him aghast, the momentary hopefulness fading from her face.
“Do not look at me like that—I could not move him!” he said, imploringly. “Come, be reasonable, my child. You did not expect him to forgive you all at once, did you?”
“No,” she faltered.
“And you were right,” he answered, reluctant to pain her, but knowing that her heart must be probed still further ere it might be healed. “Cecil is very proud, you know, and he finds it hard to forgive your deceit. He thinks he is only to marry you again for the sake of the child that is coming to bear his name, but I am sure that underneath the crust of his anger and resentment his love for you lives yet.”
Her head drooped sadly to her breast, and she sighed heavily while he continued:
“It must be your task, my sister, to win this wounded heart back to you. Cecil is hard and proud, but he is just. When he sees your remorse and repentance he will be sorry for you, he will pity you, and with the coming of your child the cloud will pass from your lives, and you will be happy again.”
He spoke more sanguinely than he had cause to speak, but he believed that unless he could whisper some hope and comfort to that crushed heart, it must break beneath the weight of its shame and sorrow. And he was right, for as he ceased speaking she lifted her bowed head, and said, with a faint, wavering smile:
“God bless you for your prophecy, my noble brother! Ah, if the deepest devotion woman ever felt can melt his proud heart, I will lay that devotion at his feet and plead with him for pardon and love.”