With what sternness he had rebuked her judgment of her father; with him, want of dutifulness and reverence were heinous sins that nothing could excuse; she remembered how he had ever praised meekness in women, and how, when she had laughingly denied all claim to that virtue, he had answered her half sadly, 'No, you are not meek, and never will be, until trouble has broken your spirit: you are too aggressive by nature to wear patiently the "ornament of a meek and quiet spirit;"' and she remembered how that half-jesting, half-serious speech had troubled her.
Ethel's feeling for Dr. Heriot had been the purest hero-worship; she had been proud of his friendship, and the loss of it under any circumstances would have troubled her sadly; she had never blinded herself to the fact that more than this would be impossible.
Already her keen eyes had lighted on his probable choice, some one who should bring meekness in lieu of beauty, and fill his home with the sunshiny sweetness of her smile. 'She will be a happy woman, whoever she is,' thought Ethel, with a sigh, not perfectly free from envy; there were so few men who were good as well as wise, 'and this was one,' she said to herself, and a flood of sadness came over her as she remembered that speech about her lack of meekness.
If he could only think well of her—if she had not lost caste in his eyes, she thought, it might still be well with her, and in a half-sad, half-jesting way she had pictured her life as Ethel Trelawny always, 'walking in maiden meditation fancy free,' a little solitary, perhaps, a trifle dull, but wiser and better when the troublesome garb of youth was laid aside, and she could—as in very honesty she longed to do now—call all men her brothers. But the proud maidenly reserve was stabbed at all points; true, or untrue, Ethel was writhing under those sneering words. Richard found her, on his return, standing white and motionless by the window; her eyes had a plaintive look in them as of a wild animal too much hurt to defend itself; her pale cheeks alarmed him.
'Why do you agitate yourself so? there is no cause! Dr. Heriot has just told me it is a mere quarrel that may be healed any time.'
'It is not that—it is those bitter cruel words,' she returned, in a strange, far-away voice; 'that one's own father should say such things,' and then her lip quivered, and two large tears welled slowly to her eyes. Ah, there was the secret stab—her own father!
'My dear Miss Trelawny—Ethel—I cannot bear to see you like this. You are overwrought—all this has upset you. Come into the air and let us talk a little.'
'What is there to talk about?' she returned dreamily.
He had called her Ethel for the first time since their old childish days, and she had not noticed it. She offered no resistance as he brought a soft fleecy shawl and wrapped it round her, and then gently removed the white motionless fingers that were clutching the window-frame; as they moved hand in hand over the grassy terrace, she was quite unconscious of the firm, warm pressure; somewhere far away she was thinking of a forlorn Ethel, whose father had spoken cruel words to her. Richard was always good to her—always; there was nothing new in that. Only once she turned and smiled at her favourite, with a smile so sad and sweet that it almost broke his heart.
'How kind you are; you always take such care of me, Richard.'