CHAPTER XV.
A CONFESSION OVERHEARD.
It was the afternoon of Morgan’s last day in Warwickshire. He sat by his mother’s couch, holding her thin hand in his, and wishing, with all his heart, that she were the only woman in the world who had any claim upon him. She looked at him with a long earnest look; once or twice her lips opened, but some moments went by before she spoke.
They were alone. Mr. Foster had pattered off to the railway station, to seek for information about the train by which Morgan was to travel. As he sat there, with the dear old woman who had shared all his early joys and sorrows, he could not help longing to tell her of his new trouble. But he knew not how to begin. And then her gentle voice broke the silence.
“Morgan,” she said, “maybe I am going to do a foolish thing. I never was a match-maker, for I’ve always thought that God alone ought to bring people together. But when I see two who seem to be made for each other, and one of them so near to me, how can I help saying a word?”
“Speak on, mother,” he answered, drawing a long breath. He knew what was coming. Well, at any rate it would give him the opportunity of unburdening his heart.
“I should like to see you engaged to Eve Hazleburn,” she continued, gaining courage. “She is as good as a daughter to me; but that isn’t the reason that I want her for my son’s wife. I want her, because there’s a sort of likeness between you that makes me sure you ought to be made one. And I’ve seen your eyes follow her, Morgan, as if you thought so too.”
“It cannot be, mother,” said the curate, almost passionately. “It cannot be, and yet I know it ought to be! I am already engaged to another woman; but I love Eve Hazleburn as I shall never love again!”
“God help us all!” sighed Mrs. Foster, suddenly pressing his hand to enjoin silence. It was too late. His voice had been raised above its usual tone; and there stood Eve at the open door.