“Are you sure I was mistaken?”
“Quite,” said Margaret; “quite.”
“And my brother, how could he be so deceived? he knew Laud so well.”
“Few knew him better, but I convinced him that he was mistaken. I asked him where the wound was upon the forehead, which he had given him, and which I had such difficulty in healing. It certainly was very like Laud, and, had I not well considered him, I also might have been deceived; but I am glad I went. Your brother is quite satisfied upon the point, but very much hurt to think of the grief he has occasioned you. He felt very sorry, also, for the pain which he kindly imagined I must have felt, which, however, was greatly relieved by the joy I experienced in proving to his satisfaction that he was mistaken. He declared that, for my sake, he would never injure Will Laud if he could help it. Oh, how I wish that Will could have heard that declaration! I am persuaded that they would have been good friends from that time. I think you will find your brother at Levington upon your return, for I know he asked permission of Lieutenant Brand to let him visit his father for a day upon very urgent business. I suspect this is but to see you, and explain to you his mistake.”
“Margaret, I ought to have felt more for you than for myself. I wish you well—I scarcely now can hope. I am indeed wretched, but it is my duty to strive against these feelings—I know it is. But here in this country I cannot remain—I must go abroad. I must see if I can get a grant of land in Canada—I cannot live here; but I shall never forget you, Margaret, never!—and may I hope that you will sometimes think of me?”
“I can never forget you; and, depend upon it, wherever you may be, I shall never cease to be grateful for your past kindness to a poor unfortunate girl like myself. God will prosper you, sir—I am sure He will. I am far too unworthy your notice. At all times I will pray for your happiness.”
“I know not where I shall go, Margaret. I will see you but once more before I go; but now good-bye.”
They shook hands and parted—each felt a sincere wish for the other’s welfare. One felt that the hopes of his life were blighted; the other, that her vows of attachment were unalterable.
Young Barry returned home, and found, as Margaret had supposed, his brother Edward, who had been there some time before his return. It needed but a look to tell what each felt. They took a turn round the fields, and were seen arm-in-arm together. They were mutually satisfied with each other.
Edward Barry saw and admired his brother’s choice, for until then he had never been prepossessed in her favour. The warmth of feeling which she betrayed when looking at the countenance of her supposed lover, as he lay in the boat-house, and the pure and simple joy at discovering the mistake; the very sensible manner in which she proved that she could not be mistaken; the gratitude she felt, and the exemplary manner in which she conducted herself, all conspired to give him a high opinion of the character of this young woman, and made him feel that, notwithstanding the strong wish he had entertained for Laud’s death, for he had even counted upon being opposed in deadly skirmish with him, he never could take his life without giving a deep wound to one innocent and deserving heart.