Edward therefore trusted to chance, and he had not gone very far down a lane leading to the common of Abbeyweld, when he saw her seated under a tree (where heroines are surely found at some period or other of their life's eventful history) reading a letter. Of course he interrupted her, and then apologised.
"The letter," said Rose, frankly, "is from poor Helen."
"Why do you call her poor?" he inquired.
"Because she is very ill; and I am going to her to-morrow morning."
"Ill!—to-morrow!—so suddenly—so soon!" stammered Edward.
Rose turned homewards with an air of cold constraint. She could not attribute Edward's agitation to any other cause than his anxiety on Helen's account, and the conviction gave her intense pain.
"Stay, Rose," he said. Rose walked steadily forward. "There is," he continued bitterly, "a curse, a spell upon this place. Do you not remember that it was here—here, within five yards of where we stand—that she first—. But where's the use of thinking of that, or any thing else," he exclaimed with a sudden burst of passion, "where a woman is concerned? They are all, all alike, and I am a double fool! But go, Rose, go—enjoy her splendour, and lie in wait, as she did, for some rich idiot!"
It was now Rose's turn to interrupt. Turning upon Edward, with an expression of deeply insulted feeling, "Sir," she said; and before she proceeded the cold monosyllable had entered his heart; "Sir, my cousin Helen did not lie in wait; a woman's beauty may be called a snare, if you please, but it is not one of her own making; she was sought and won, and not by an idiot; and it is ungenerous in you to speak thus now, when time, and her being another's wife"—
Poor Rose had entered on perilous ground, and she felt it, and the feeling prevented her proceeding. She trembled violently; and if Edward could have seen her blanched cheek and quivering lip, he would have checked his impetuosity, and bitterly reproached himself for the rash words he had uttered. If he could but have known how devoutly the poor fond beating heart loved him at that moment, he would, rustic though he was, have fallen at her feet, and entreated her forgiveness. Doubtless it was better as it was, for if men could see into women's hearts, I very much fear their reliance on their own power would increase, and that would be neither pleasant nor profitable to themselves or others; the very existence of love often depends on its uncertainty. Some evil star at that moment shed its influence over them, for Edward Lynne, catching at Rose's words, answered,