ered in heaven.

But then, again, perhaps Ralph had not foreseen that his mother might
live for years in her present state. No doubt he thought her near to
death. He could not have intended that she should live long in his
brother's house.

Yet he _had_ so intended. "He will ask you to be his wife, Rotha,"
Ralph had said, "but he can't do so yet."

This brought her memory back to the earlier events of the morning.
Willy Ray had already asked her to become his wife. And what had she
done on her part? Had she not seemed to say No?

Willy was far above her. It was true enough that she was a poor
homeless girl, without lands, without anything but the hands she
worked with. Willy was now a statesman, and he was something of a
scholar too. Yes, he was in every way far above her. Were there not
others who might love him? Yet Ralph had seemed to wish her to become
his brother's wife, and what Ralph had said would be best, must of
course be so.

She could not bring herself to leave Shoulthwaite--that was clear
enough to her bewildered sense. Nor could she remain on the present
terms of relation--that, also, was but too clear. If Ralph were at
home, how different everything would be! He would lead her with a word
out of this distressing maze.

When Willy Ray parted from Rotha after he had told her of his love, he
felt that the sunshine had gone out of his life forever. He had been
living for weeks and months in a paradise that was not his own. Why he
had loved this girl he could hardly say. She was--every one knew
it--the daughter of a poor tailor, and he was the poorest and meanest
creature in the country round about.

The young man could not help telling himself that he might have looked
to marry the daughter of the largest statesman in a radius of miles.

But then, the girl herself was a noble creature--none could question
it. Rude, perhaps, in some ways, without other learning than the hard
usage of life had given her; yet she was a fine soul, as deep as the
tarn on the mountain-top, and as pure and clear.

And he had fancied she loved him. No disaster had quite overshadowed
the bright hope of that surmise. Yet had she not loved Ralph instead?
Perhaps the girl herself did not realize that in reality the love of
his brother had taken hold of her. Did Ralph himself love the girl?
That could not be, or he should have guessed the truth the night they
spoke together. Still, it _might_ be that Ralph loved her after all.