Part 36 (1/2)

Sybil made a struggle to rise, but it was not a very brave struggle, and in another moment she had fallen into his arms and was sobbing out her whole love pa.s.sionately.

”Oh, Ronald, you mu--must not!” But Ronald did.

Half an hour later they were still sitting side by side on the steps, but the storm of uncertainty was pa.s.sed, and they had plighted their faith for better and for worse, for this world and the next. Ronald had foreseen the event, and had hoped for it as he never had hoped for anything in his life; Sybil had perhaps guessed it; at all events, now that the supreme moment was over, they both felt that it was the natural climax to all that had happened during the spring.

”I think,” said Sybil, quietly, ”that we ought to tell my uncle at once.

He is the only relation I have in the world.”

”Oh yes, of course,” said Ronald, holding her hand. ”That is, you know, I think we might tell him after lunch. Because I suppose it would not be the right thing for me to stay all day after he knows. Would it?”

”Why not?” asked Sybil. ”He must know it soon, and you will come to-morrow.”

”To-morrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and always,” said Ronald, lovingly. ”But he will not like it, I suppose.”

”Why not?” asked Sybil, again.

”Because I am poor,” said Ronald, quietly. ”You know I am not rich at all, Sybil dearest. We shall have to be very economical, and live on the place in Scotland. But it is a very pretty place,” he added, rea.s.suringly.

Sybil flushed a little. He did not know, then, that she had a fortune of her own. It was a new pleasure. She did not say anything for a moment.

”Do you mind very much, dearest?” asked Ronald, doubtfully. ”Do you think it would bore you dreadfully to live in the country?”

Sybil hesitated before she answered. She hardly knew whether to tell him or not, but at last she decided it would be better.

”No, Ronald,” said she, smiling a little; ”I like the country. But, you know, we can live anywhere we please. I am rich, Ronald--you did not know it?”

Ronald started slightly. It was indeed an unexpected revelation.

”Really?” he cried. ”Oh, I am so glad for you. You will not miss anything, then. I was so afraid.”

That evening Ronald telegraphed to Joe the news of his engagement, and the next day he wrote her a long letter, which was more remarkable for the redundant pa.s.sion expressed than for the literary merit of the expression.

It seemed far easier to write it since he had seen her and talked with her about Sybil, not because he felt in the least ashamed of having fallen in love within six months of the dissolution of his former engagement with Joe, but because it seemed a terribly difficult thing to speak to any one about Sybil. Ronald was very far from being poetical, or in any way given to lofty and medieval reflections of the chivalric sort, but he was a very honest fellow, loving for the first time, and he understood that his love was something more to be guarded and respected than anything that had yet come into his life; wherefore it seemed almost ungentlemanly to speak about it.

When Joe received the intelligence her satisfaction knew no bounds, for although she had guessed that the climax of the affair was not far off, she had not expected it so very soon. Had she searched through the whole of her acquaintance at home and in America she could have found no one whom she considered more fit to be Ronald's wife, and that alone was enough to make her very happy; but the sensation of freedom from all further responsibility to Ronald, and the consciousness that every possible good result had followed upon her action, added so much to her pleasure in the matter, that for a time she utterly forgot herself and her own troubles. She instantly wrote a long and sympathetic letter to Ronald, and another to Sybil.

Sybil replied at once, begging Joe to come and spend a month at Sherwood, or as much time as she was able to give.

”I expect you had best go,” remarked Miss Schenectady. ”It is getting pretty hot here, and you look quite sick.”

”Oh no, I am very well,” said Joe; ”but I think I will go for a week or ten days.”

”Well, if you find you are going to have a good time, you can always stay, any way,” replied the old lady. ”I think if I were you I would take some books and a Bible and a pair of old boots.”

Miss Schenectady did not smile, but Joe laughed outright.

”A Bible and a pair of old boots!” she cried.