“But ’tis impossible! They little know her: let them arrange as they will, she will never consent.”
“Indeed, sir, but that’s the strangest part of it; for didn’t I hear her consent in this very room, with these ears, not ten minutes ago? ‘Excep’ Squire Thornby’s proposal of marriage,’ them was her uncle’s words, and she said yes, and Lady Strange is with her now, a-tellin’ how adventidjus a match ’twill be. And if you think a poor waiting-woman’s word can’t be took, you’re free to go and ask for yourself.”
“Marry Squire Thornby!—after all that has passed—her grief at my going—her appeal for my life! It can’t be; I’ll not believe it, unless she tells me.”
He went swiftly from the room, and ran up the stairs. Before he had time to reflect upon the impulse he obeyed, he was on the landing outside her antechamber, calling through the closed door:
“Georgiana!—my love! Come and deny this slander! Come, let me hear the truth!”
The door opened, and Georgiana appeared, pale and sorrow-stricken. Lady Strange was at her side, with a gently restraining touch upon her arm. But Everell seized the girl’s hand and led her down the stairs, partly as if he claimed her from any other’s possession, and partly that he might see her face in the better light of the hall below. “Sweet, what blundering tale is this?” he asked, as they descended;—“of a marriage with Squire Thornby, and that you have given your consent?”
Georgiana was silent, with averted glance.
“Why don’t you answer?” he said, as they reached the foot of the stairs.
She lifted her eyes to his, but could not bring her lips to frame a word.
“What!” he exclaimed; “’tis true, then? Oh!”