“No, but you have Berrie Down.”
“And you think Arthur would be so mad——?” began Heather.
“I am sure he will be so mad, if some one do not put a stop to these private walks and talks—these wanderings over the fields—these confidential whisperings.”
“Shall you read him that letter, Miss Hope?” ventured the poor wife, timidly.
“Do you think I am mad, too, Heather Dudley?” asked Miss Hope; “do you think I want every word in it to be repeated to Mr. Black? No; you must meet influence with influence; you must checkmate stratagem by stratagem. For Arthur’s sake and for the sake of your children, you must avert this great evil which is coming upon you. This man must go, and Mrs. Ormson also, and Arthur must not follow them to London. Berrie Down is not gone yet; but Berrie Down will go, if you do not exert yourself to save it.”
For a moment Heather bent her head on her hands before she replied; then, “Berrie Down is not mine, to keep or to lose?” she said.
“No; but you can prevent Arthur losing it.”
“How?” Heather lifted her eyes, and looked straight into Miss Hope’s face as she asked this question.
“How?” repeated her companion; “why, you must talk to Arthur, find out what he is thinking of joining; and, if it be as we imagine, prevent his doing anything so utterly suicidal.”
“And you think I could prevent him?”