He looked at her expectantly, and then he said kindly, "Then you intend going to him—you intend leaving Inchbrae?"
"I must," she said, nervously.
"And my advice is not needed then, since you have made up your mind."
There was a visible struggle going on in her. "I am afraid I must go, since he wishes it, but—need I sell the place, Mr. Macfarlane?"
"The place is yours—I would not sell it if I were you."
"But he commands me," she said, bitterly, "and——"
"And you do not know what the consequences may be if you refuse to do so?"
"I—I know nothing," she said, helplessly.
Mr. Macfarlane was sorry for her, he understood quite well what was weighing on her—she was afraid of disobeying—she thought herself too much in Mr. Sandford's hands—too much in his power. Before he had time to speak she said, hurriedly, "Perhaps it had better not be discussed, perhaps I had better do it."
But here, the thought of having no home to come to if she was unhappy—the pang of parting with the little place she so loved, where her husband had died, and each shrub and tree of which she had seen planted, was too much for her—and her quivering lips and tearful eyes awoke real sympathy in Mr. Macfarlane's heart.