Her class-leader, a shrewd, pious
old Scotchman, had once said to her--"Nine impulses oot o' ten, Sister
Phyllis, come fra the de'il. Just put an impulse through its catechism
before ye go the gate it sends ye." So she sat down to think. "What
right have I to interfere? Ought I to solicit a confidence? Can I do
good? Might I not do harm? A good word spoken out of season is often
a bad word; and I am not sure what is the good word in this case. I
had better be still and wait."
Her patience had in some measure its reward. Toward afternoon Elizabeth
came to her room. Her eyes were red with weeping, but she said, "Father
and Richard have shaken hands, Phyllis; there is to be no ill-will
about the disappointment."
"I am very glad. But is it to be a disappointment--to you, I mean,
Elizabeth?"
"I fear so; I must stand by father's side as regards Hallam. I can
wait and love on. But I will not bind Richard. He is free."
"I am quite sure he is not free. Richard will never be free while there
remains a hope of eventually winning you."
"He says that nothing but my marriage to some other person shall make
him lose hope; but men say these things and forget."
"Richard means what he says. He will not forget; and time gives with
both hands to the patient and the truthful. Is the squire satisfied?"
"I don't think he blames Richard.
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