His meaning did not easily reach Rosalind, who was preoccupied, and did not connect Roland at all with the mystery around her. She said, “That was strange; who could it be; some one who knew us in the hotel?”
“Rosalind, I have never liked to say anything to you about—Madam.”
“Don’t!” she said, holding up her hand; “oh, don’t, Roland. The only time you spoke to me about her you hurt me—oh, to the very heart; not that I believed it; but it was so grievous that you could think, that you could say—that you could see even, anything—”
“I have thought it over a hundred times since then, and what you say is true, Rosalind. One has no right even to see things that—there are some people who are above even— I know now what you mean, and that it is true. You knew her better than any one else, and your faith is mine. That is why I came to tell you. Rosalind—who could that woman be but one? She came behind the bushes to hear what I was saying. She was all trembling—who else could that be?”
“Roland!” Rosalind had risen up, every tinge of color ebbing from her face; “you too!—you too—!”
“No,” he said, rising also, taking her hand; “not that, not that, Rosalind. If she were dead, as you think, would she not know everything? She would not need to listen to me. This is what I am sure of, that she is here and trying every way—”
She grasped his hands as if her own were iron, and then let them go, and threw herself into her seat, and sobbed, unable to speak, “Oh, Roland! oh, Roland!” with a cry that went to his heart.
“Rosalind,” he said, leaning over her, touching her shoulder, and her hair, with a sympathy which filled his eyes with tears, and would not be contented with words, “listen; I am going to look for her now. I sha’n’t tire of it, whoever tires. I shall find her, Rosalind. And then, if she will let me take care of her, stand by her, bring her news of you all—! I have wronged her more than anybody, for I thought that I believed; see if I don’t make up for it now. I could not go without telling you— I shall find her, Rosalind,” the young man cried.
She rose up again, trembling, and uncovered her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes almost wild with hope and excitement. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I had made up my mind before. I will bear it no longer. Let them take everything; what does it matter? I am not only my father’s daughter, I am myself first of all. If she is living, Roland—”
“She is living, I am sure.”