“Would it please you that one of the Godolphins should still inhabit it?” he asked at length.
“I do not understand you?” replied Thomas. “There is no chance—I had almost said no possibility—of a Godolphin henceforward inhabiting Ashlydyat.”
“I hope and trust there is,” said Lord Averil with emotion. “If Ashlydyat is ever to be mine, I shall not care for it unless a Godolphin shares it with me. I speak of your sister Cecilia.”
Thomas sat in calmness, waiting for more. Nothing could stir him greatly now. Lord Averil gave him the outline of the past. Of his love for Cecilia, and her rejection of him.
“There has been something,” he continued, “in her manner of late, which has renewed hope within me—otherwise I should not say this to you now. Quite of late; since her rejection of me; I have observed that—that—— I cannot describe it, Thomas,” he broke off. “But I have determined to risk my fate once more. And you—loving Cecil as I do—you thought I could prosecute George!”
“But I did not know that you loved Cecil.”
“I suppose not. It has seemed to me, though, that my love must have been patent to the world. You would give her to me, would you not?”
“Ay; thankfully,” was the warm answer. “The thought of leaving Cecil unprotected has been one of my cares. Janet and Bessy are older and more experienced. Let me give you one consolation, Averil: if Cecilia has rejected you, she has rejected others. Janet has fancied she had some secret attachment. Can it have been to yourself?”
“If so, why should she have rejected me?”
“In truth I do not know. Cecil has seemed grievously unhappy since these troubles arose: almost as one who has no further hope in life. George’s peril has told upon her.”