Part 58 (2/2)

”No,” she went on; ”you have taken the man's love from him--I think he did love me, Hugh, in his way--you could not take his estate; now could you, Hugh?”

”No!” said I; ”no!”

”Darthea, are you mad?” said Aunt Wynne.

”I will not have it!” cried Darthea. ”I say I will not have it, and it concerns me most, madam.” I had never before seen her angry. ”Do you love me, Hugh Wynne?” she cried. ”Do you love me, sir?”

”Darthea!”

”Will you always love me?”

”Dear child!” I exclaimed. ”What is it?”

”Give me that deed,” said my aunt. ”Are you crazy fools, both of you?”

”Fools, Mistress Wynne?” said Darthea, turning from me, the deed still in her hand. ”You are cruel and unkind. Could I marry Hugh Wynne if he did this thing? Are there no decencies in life, madam, that are above being sold for money and name? I should never marry him if he did this thing--never; and I mean to marry him, madam.” And with this she unrolled the deed, crumpled it up, and threw it on the red blaze of the fire.

There was a flash of flame and a roar in the chimney. It was gone in a moment, and our Welsh lands were so much smoke and cinders.

My aunt made a wild rush to rescue them, but struck her head against the chimney-shelf, and fell back into a chair, crying, ”You idiot! you fool!

You shall never marry him!”

I picked up the slim little lady in my arms, and kissed her over and over, whilst, as she struggled away, I whispered:

”Thank G.o.d! Dear, brave heart! It was well done, and I thank you.”

My aunt's rage knew no bounds, and I may not repeat what she said to my Darthea, who stood open-eyed, defiant, and flushed.

I begged the furious old lady to stop. A whirlwind were as easily checked. At last, when she could say no more, my dear maid said quietly:

”What I have done, Hugh should have done long since. We are to live together, I trust, madam, for many years, and I love you well; but you have said things to me not easy to forget. I beg to insist that you apologise. For lighter things men kill one another. I await, madam, your excuses.”

It was a fine sight to see how this fiery little bit of a woman faced my tall, strong aunt, who towered above her, her large face red with wrath.

”Never!” she cried. ”I have been--it is I who am insulted and put to shame, in my own house, by a chit of a miss.”

”Then good-by,” said Darthea, and was by me and out of the house before I could see what to do or know what to say.

”She is gone!” I cried. ”Oh, Aunt Gainor, you have broken my heart!”

”What did I say, Hugh?” said my aunt. I do truly think she did not know what she had said; and now she was off and I after her, knocking over Caesar and our belated candles, and out of doors after Darthea. I saw her join her a few yards away, and did wisely to hold back. I knew well the child-heart my aunt carried within that s.p.a.cious bosom.

What the pair of them said I do not know. In a few minutes they were back again, both in tears, the whole wretched business at an end. I thought it better to go away and leave them, but my aunt cried out:

”Wait, sir! I am an old a.s.s! If either of you ever mention this thing again, I--I will wring your necks. I make free to say that some day you will both regret it; but it is your affair and not mine. O Lord! if Cat Ferguson ever comes to know it--”

”She never will,” said Darthea; ”and we will love you and love you, dear, dear mother, and I am sorry I hurt you; but I had to--I had to. If I was wise, I know not; but I had to end it--I had to.”

Never before had I heard the sweet woman call my aunt mother. She often did so in after-years. It melted the old spinster, and she fell to kissing her, saying:

<script>