"You are a brave woman, Ellinor." She kissed the girl's cheek. It occurred to her that there were things even more potent than wealth to wipe out inherited stain.
Sir Arthur had purposely detained his son that morning, talking over matters totally unconnected with the topic uppermost in both minds. Guy had just escaped and was mounting to ride over to Firholt when Ellinor's letter was put into his hand. He was thunderstruck and furiously angry. Although perfectly aware that something had gone seriously wrong, he had waited, determined that his father should take the initiative, and equally determined that nothing should induce him to give up Ellinor. What he was not prepared for was that his mother should get the start of him, and deal the blow through the hand of his love. He went straight to Sir Arthur, the letter in his hand.
"You knew of this, sir? My mother has seen Ellinor this morning." The elder man felt uncomfortable. There was an unpleasant look of conspiracy about the affair; but, Ellinor having proved reasonable, secrecy was no longer an object, and he told his son simply the whole story. Carefully as he detailed his own action in the matter, it was not difficult to read between the lines. The anger of the younger man deepened.
"Very well, sir," he said, when his father paused. "I more than half guessed the truth last night. In the face of it I renewed word to Miss Rawdon. You have thought fit to hound away her father, to treat me like a child, and coerce Ellinor into breaking with me, working on her sense of honour. I can only say if she will not marry me, I will marry no woman alive."
Then he took his hat and went out, over to Firholt. Ellinor came down to him, a haggard, white-faced woman.
"Ellinor, what do you mean—?"
"You know what I mean."
"Don't you know it is simply impossible to separate yourself from me?.
"You must not marry me."
"Nonsense, I mean to marry you."
She clasped her hands and rested the open palms upon his shoulder, looking into his face, her strained, tired eyes meeting his. "Guy, I must find him—find my father."
"Do you love him best?"
"No, but if I married you, even if your father and mother consented, if I could escape from doing you shameful injury, he would keep away, thinking that so we might be happy. I should have his long pain, perhaps his death upon my heart."
"Dear love, I will find him; then we will go away together, he and you and I."
"No, no, it is impossible. Your mother would be heartbroken; and she trusts me."
"She did wrong to appeal to you. If we had been married, they must have accepted everything; there would have been no alternative, and it is the same thing."
"Guy, what has he done?"
"Nothing, love, that has not long ago been wiped out."
But Ellinor kept her word. Guy must go, and she would wait for her father's homecoming.
Guy also kept his word. He told her that he held himself bound, that he would seek Matthew Rawdon through the world and bring him back. In the meantime Ellinor refused to receive his letters or write to him.
The months went by, and Matthew Rawdon did not come, nor Guy. Lady Peyton and Sir Arthur began to console themselves with the thought that the little man must be dead, and to weary for their son. Ellinor advertised, sought the aid of a private inquiry office, all to no avail. She lived on quietly at Firholt with Mrs. Montresor, seldom going into society. She had grown into a grave, slightly reserved woman.
Every evening she went down to a path she loved, shadowed in spring by lilacs, laburnums, and guelder-roses; behind these a plantation of laurels. On the other side it was open to the park. She used to fancy that some evening in the dusk her waiting would be ended, and she should see her father coming.
After two years someone came; not her father, but Guy.
He had been to the house first, and took her unawares. Until she saw him, she did not know the exceeding bitterness of her loneliness and longing; she stretched out her arms with a cry.
"Sweetheart," he said presently, "there must be no more parting between you and me. My people can't stand out any longer—the loneliness of the old place has proved too much for them. I will not stay here without you, and they are ready to welcome you."
"But my father. If he came back would they welcome him? And, until he does, how can I break my word?"
"Listen, love—they think, we all think—Nell, I have tried every means to find him, and failed." There was a rustling among the laurel leaves. "It is only a bird," said Guy, feeling that she started.
