"You can do as you like," he said, more determined she should stay, since she opposed his will, "but I cannot reconcile your affection for Mrs. Dorriman with your determination to leave her."
"Can you not?" said Jean, her blue eyes flashing a little. "Can you not, sir? Can you not see that the bread of dependence is bitter to her and bitter to me? You took her from her own home, and her own quiet life—for some reason of your own—but I know it was ill done. If I am here, it is another weight upon the wrong side."
"Do as you like, and leave me, in Heaven's name!" he exclaimed, impatiently.
"Heaven had not much to do with her being taken away," said Jean, firmly, "but I do not wish to speak about what I know imperfectly after all. What I wish to speak about is just this—Do you really want me to stay, and is it all for her sake? or is there something else?"
"The woman will drive me mad!" said Mr. Sandford. "What else could there be? No! I do wish you to stay; and with regard to Inchbrae," he said, in a lower voice, "had I known she cared so much——"
"She did care," said Jean; "she greeted till I thought she would wear herself out; but she is getting over it a bit, and she knows that one day she will go back."
"Ah!" said Mr. Sandford, "what is that about going back? The place is sold."
"Yes, it is sold," said Jean composedly, "and can be bought back any time. Your sister knows the prophecy, and she'll go back to it in God's good time. Till then we are content—she and I."
"Some old woman's story," muttered Mr. Sandford. "Now you will be good enough to go and leave me."
"I will wish you good day, sir; it's not good-bye, till I know Mrs. Dorriman's wishes."