'Yes, but not by men of Cyril's nature. He is strong, but his very strength seems to make him suffer more keenly. If he stayed here, people would begin to talk; he would not always be able to hide what he felt. He thinks he ought to go away for your sake. "I am giving her pain now, and by and by it will be worse"—those were his very words.'
'I think it would be braver to stay on here. Will you tell him so, Mrs. Blake?'
'No, Miss Ross, I will not tell him so; I will not consent to see him slowly tortured. If he tells us we must go, I will not say a dissenting word. What is my own comfort compared to his? I have had a hard life, God knows! and now it will be harder still.'
'But you have other children to consider,' remonstrated Audrey faintly. 'If you leave here, Mollie and Kester will be sacrificed. Surely, you have put this before him.'
'No, indeed, I have not; he has always been my first consideration. Of course, I know how bad it will be for the poor children; but if it comes to that—to choose between them and Cyril——' And a strange, passionate look came into her eyes.
'Hush, hush! I do not like to hear you talk so,' replied Audrey. 'It is wrong; no mother ought to make such a difference. You are not yourself, or you would not say such things. It is all this trouble.'
'Perhaps you are right,' she returned drearily. 'I think it has half crazed me to know we must go away. Oh, if you knew what my life has been, and what a haven of rest this has seemed!' She looked round the room, and a sort of spasm crossed her face. 'It is all so sweet and homelike, and he has loved it so; and now to begin all afresh, and to go amongst strangers—and then the loss——' She stopped as though something seemed to choke her.
Audrey felt as though she could hear no more. 'It is all my fault,' she burst out; 'how you must hate me!' But Mrs. Blake shook her head with a sad smile.
'I don't seem to have the power of hating you,' she said, so gently that Audrey's lip quivered. 'How can I hate what my boy loves?' and then she paused and looked at Audrey, as though the sight of her suppressed emotion stirred some dim hope within her: 'If I thought it would help him, I would kneel at your feet like a beggar and pray you to have compassion upon him; but I know what such pity would be worth—do you think Cyril would accept any woman's pity?'
'No, no,' and then Audrey rose and put out her hands in a beseeching way. 'Will you let me go? Indeed, indeed, I can bear no more——'