“You meant it for the best, Raby?”
“Yes, I meant it for the best,” he answered, slowly. “I did not wish to take advantage of her youth; it did not seem right or honorable. Let her go into the world a little and see other men, that is what I said to myself. Even now, I hardly think I was wrong.”
“No, you were right, quite right; but you need not have dreaded the result of such an ordeal; Crystal would never have loved any one but you, Raby. I sometimes think”—but here she hesitated.
“You think what, Margaret?”
“That she was jealous of Mona—that she misunderstood you there?”
“Good heavens! Mrs. Grey!”
“Crystal was so young, and she did not know that poor Mona’s life was doomed. I have seen her look at Mona so strangely when you were talking to her; and once she asked me if you admired fair women, and if you did not think Mrs. Grey very beautiful; and when I said yes, I remember she turned very pale and did not answer.”
“I never thought of this,” he returned, in a tone of grief. “It must have been one of her sick fancies, poor unhappy child—as though my heart had ever swerved from her for an instant. What do you think, Margaret, could she care for the blind man still?”
“More than ever, dear. If I know Crystal, her heart has belonged to you from a child.”
“There speaks my comforter”—with one of his rare smiles; “you are always good to me, Madge. Now read to me a little, and let me banish these weary thoughts. One little clew—one faint hint—and I would keep my word and seek for her; but, as you say, we must have patience a little longer,” and Raby straightened himself and composed himself to listen, and they sat there until the evening sunshine began to creep about the sun-dial, and it was time for Raby to walk over to Pierrepoint.