She appeared absent while he was speaking, and turning to Miss Woodley, said, “Do you think I had better walk to-day?”
“No, my dear,” answered Miss Woodley; “the ground is damp, and the air cold.”
“You are not well, indeed, Lady Matilda,” said Rushbrook, gazing upon her with the most tender respect.
She shook her head; and the tears, without any effort either to impel or to restrain them, ran down her face.
Rushbrook rose from his seat, and with an accent and manner the most expressive, said, “We are cousins, Lady Matilda—in our infancy we were brought up together—we were beloved by the same mother—fostered by the same father”——
“Oh!” cried she, interrupting him, with a tone which indicated the bitterest anguish.
“Nay, do not let me add to your uneasiness,” he resumed, “while I am attempting to alleviate it. Instruct me what I can do to show my esteem and respect, rather than permit me thus unguided, to rush upon what you may construe into insult and arrogance.”
Miss Woodley went to Matilda, took her hand, then wiped the tears from her eyes, while Matilda reclined against her, entirely regardless of Rushbrook’s presence.
“If I have been in the least instrumental to this sorrow,”—said Rushbrook, with a face as much agitated as his mind.
“No,” said Miss Woodley, in a low voice, “you have not—she is often thus.”