CHAPTER IX.
A COMPROMISE.
“Dear, dear grandpa! Has he been making you unhappy, too? What has he done? What has he been saying to you? Tell me all about it.”
The earl felt two warm, loving arms around his neck, and a dear, treasured head pillowed on his bosom. By and by he looked up, and met the earnest, beseeching gaze of his beautiful ward—his grandchild of his heart—the one true, enduring love left to him in all the world.
“Oh, Cordelia, my sweet child! God and all the good angels keep and bless thee!”
And then, with many pauses, and many tears, he told the story of his interview with his grandson—all save that part of it which had reference to the smuggler’s son. Of that he spoke not yet.
When this had been told, Cordelia gave a truthful account of the interview in the arbor; but she did not dwell upon it. She hurried through with it as rapidly as possible, and then broached a new subject.
“Grandpa,” she said, with a world of eager inquiry in look and tone, “you have heard stories told of the old chapel of the Monks, on the crag—about its being haunted, and so on, haven’t you?”
“Yes, darling. Those stories are older than I am.”
“Well, what do you think about it? What did you ever think? Of course, you have had your thoughts.”