“Now, grandpa, if I will tell you something, you will keep it to yourself, won’t you—at least till I tell you otherwise?”
“Certainly, darling, if there is good reason for it.”
“Well, there is the very best of reasons. We agreed—Percy and I—that we wouldn’t speak of it until he had time to investigate; but, since you know so much, you ought to know this, too.”
And thereupon she went on, excitedly and vividly, yet very clearly and succinctly, to tell the story of the adventure of the previous evening.
“Oh!” she cried, when she had concluded the narrative, “I am glad it was Percy. If there is anything to be found, be sure he will find it.”
“Cordelia!”
The girl started. There was something in the tone—in the manner in which her name had been thus abruptly pronounced, that sounded strangely to her. It seemed to her as though she could detect pain in it.
“Cordelia! You think a great deal of Percy Maitland?”
What in the world did he mean? Had he read her secret? Did he know or did he suspect, that she loved him, loved him with all the love of her heart? Ah! Matthew had spoken. His word had given the earl’s thoughts direction. She had hoped that the secret might be Percy’s and hers for a time longer; and it would be an easy matter to deceive her questioner, even now.
But, could she do it? Could she, in this hour, when a holy love had sanctified and beautified her life, take her first step in falsehood? Oh, no! no!