“Don’t you see?” he returned, just glancing at her and then looking away again. “You have made it impossible, Aunt Lucy. I could never ask her to marry me now.”
The bitterness in his voice overwhelmed her. “Tom, you don’t suppose she would believe that you—Oh, what have I done? Tom, you will never forgive me!”
At the sound of the quick sob that choked her voice he turned quickly to her. “Aunt Lucy, do not talk like that. What is done can’t be undone. But let me understand. What proofs have you that Rhoda is your niece? You must write to Mr. Thomson and tell him all you know. But he will want proofs.”
He spoke so quietly, she took courage. And she was able to speak fully to him. He listened with grave intentness, asking a question now and then.
“We must write to this Mr. Harding,” he said, when she had finished. “Mrs. M’Alister will be sure to know his address. Shall I go up and see Mr. Thomson for you to-morrow, Aunt Lucy? I think the first step is to tell him.”
“And Rhoda, Tom?”
“Wait till I have seen Thomson. Though there seems no room for doubt. Aunt Lucy, I wish you had told me at first.”
How she wished it she tried to tell him, but her tears prevented her. She sobbed hysterically, while he did his best to soothe her, forgetting his own pain at the sight of hers. When she could speak, her first words were of Rhoda.
“Tom, you won’t let this come between you? Tom dear, I know she loves you.”
His face quivered all over. “I have no right to speak to her yet,” he said. “Perhaps—but I must wait. Can’t you see it must be so? I shall have my own way to make in the world.” He squared his shoulders as he said it, as if eager to begin the struggle.