It was clear to him at last. He should have to bear as she had been forced to bear. She told him this truth herself—not hardly or pharisaically, not with the air of one who having been a martyr glories in recounting his sufferings, but pitifully and tearfully, across his son’s body; and when the agony of this new light proved too much for him, when he bowed his head and covered his face and wept anew, she repeated to him the burden of that which she had said to herself before she went forth to seek him—
“Would God I could bear it for you; if it might be, I would bear all gladly.”
“I wish the punishment had fallen entirely upon me,” he answered, humbly.
He was much changed in those days—changed towards his wife more especially, and yet Georgina did not feel satisfied. She knew who had wrought this alteration, even at her own request; and that knowledge woke to life the old jealousy, the old dislike, the old hatred of her successful rival.
“It is quite time we were back at Roundwood, uncle, I think,” said Phemie to her uncle, as they walked together about the grounds on the day preceding that fixed for the funeral.
“We will go to-morrow if you like, dear,” he answered. “You have done all you can do here. Mrs. Basil Stondon is, doubtless, greatly attached to you, and you have been of much use to her; but yet I believe—
‘Of honey and of gall in love there is store,
The honey is much—but the gall is more.’”
“I am sure there is more gall than honey in her love for me,” replied Phemie; “and therefore, although I do hope I have been of use here, I will pack up and go.”
“I would, Phemie, I could see you packing up and making preparations for happiness on your own account,” he said, significantly.