taken part of the wind out of my sails, and his
open confession had at least paved the way for absolution, which I feared
might be followed by disastrous results, since to forgive always makes
the heart grow fonder.
Presently Hamilton turned to Frances, saying: "You may better appreciate
your cousin's fidelity to your interest when I tell you that in speaking
thus frankly to you, he placed himself in danger of two misfortunes, both
of which, probably, he felt sure would befall him. Please do not think
that I boast, but it is true, nevertheless, that my sword point is
considered one of the most dangerous in England. Doubtless Baron Ned
expected to be called upon to stand by his words. Furthermore, he is a
suitor for my sister's hand, as you may know, and of late has sought my
friendship, in part, no doubt, for the purpose of forwarding his cause."
At this point he turned toward me and smiled. I, too, smiled, though not
joyously, for I thought surely this affair would ruin all my chances with
Mary.
"Therefore," continued Hamilton, "he had much to lose in arraigning me,
and nothing to gain but your welfare. You must see that it was
unselfishly done. If there is gratitude in your heart, give it here." He
placed his hand on my shoulder and, after a long pause and an apparent
effort, finished what he had to say: "Forget me. I am unworthy to speak
your name or to have the great joy of hearing you speak mine."
This was taking the wind out of my sails at a great rate. In truth, it
was taking the sails themselves, though I believed he was not speaking
for sake of the advantage. In a moment he bowed low, sweeping the plume
of his hat in the dust, saying as he left us:--
"Farewell, Mistress Jennings, and thank you, Baron Ned. You say I am a
staunch friend. You have still to learn the whole truth of your praise."
Turning instantly, he hastened away from us down the Bourne Path, and
though we waited for him to look back, he disappointed us, and soon was
lost as he passed beyond a bend. Frances was weeping gently, and I, too,
felt a lump in my throat, not because of what I had said or done, but
because of the unexpected good I had found in Hamilton, whom I had always
liked; good, which up to that time I had never suspected, having always
seen him in the shadow of a throne.
When Hamilton had disappeared, I asked Frances if we should return
to Sundridge, and she answering by a nod, we started home, each of us
heavy-hearte
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