Quite suddenly the sound of voices broke the stillness. The speakers were hidden from Nelly’s gaze, for the tones came from the other side of the laurel hedge. Eve Hazleburn’s accents, clear and musical, could be recognised in a moment.
“I am going away next week,” she said, “going back to Warwickshire, Mr. Foster, I wrote to Mr. Lindley, the good Vicar of C——, and he has found a place for me. I am to be companion to an invalid lady whose house is close to the street where your father and mother live. They will be glad to have me near them again.”
She spoke rapidly, and a little louder than usual. Nelly, overwhelmed with astonishment, sat still, without giving a thought to her position as an eavesdropper.
“I have kept away from you—I have tried not to think of you!” cried Morgan Foster, in irrepressible anguish. “God does not help me in this matter. I have prayed, worked, struggled, yet I get no relief. What shall I do, Eve—what shall I do?”
Eve Hazleburn and Morgan Foster.—Page 194.
“You must endure to the end,” she answered, with a little sob. “God will make it easier by-and-by. Oh, I was so sorry to come here, Mr. Foster; but I could not help it! We will never meet again, you and I. Yet I am glad that I know Miss Channell. I will go and tell the old people what a sweet bright girl she is; and they will soon learn to love her. It will all come right in the end.”
“Ah, if I could believe that!” said the curate. “But I can’t. It is madness to think that a wrong path can have a right ending. Sometimes I am persuaded it would be best to tell her everything.”
“If you did,” cried Eve, sternly, “you would break her heart. And don’t think—pray don’t think, Mr. Foster, that I would build my house on the ruins of another woman’s happiness! When I am gone,” and the proud voice trembled, “you will learn to submit to circumstances. We are not likely to cross each other’s paths again; you will be a rich man——”