"She wouldn't or couldn't tell, but looked very cross and told me
to ask you."
"Very odd! I've had none," began Coventry.
"But I had one several days ago. Will you please read it, and my reply?"
And as she spoke, Jean laid two letters before him.
"Certainly not. It would be dishonorable to read what Ned intended for
no eyes but your own. You are too scrupulous in one way, and not enough
so in another, Miss Muir." And Coventry offered both the letters with
an air of grave decision, which could not conceal the interest and
surprise he felt.
"You are right. Mr. Edward's note should be kept sacred, for in it the
poor boy has laid bare his heart to me. But mine I beg you will read,
that you may see how well I try to keep my word to you. Oblige me in
this, Mr. Coventry; I have a right to ask it of you."
So urgently she spoke, so wistfully she looked, that he could not refuse
and, going to the window, read the letter. It was evidently an answer to
a passionate appeal from the young lover, and was written with
consummate skill. As he read, Gerald could not help thinking, If this
girl writes in this way to a man whom she does not love, with what a
world of power and passion would she write to one whom she did love.
And this thought kept returning to him as his eye went over line after
line of wise argument, gentle reproof, good counsel, and friendly
regard. Here and there a word, a phrase, betrayed what she had already
confessed, and Coventry forgot to return the letter, as he stood
wondering who was the man whom Jean loved.
The sound of Bella's voice recalled him, for she was saying, half
kindly, half petulantly, "Don't look so sad, Jean. Ned will outlive it,
I dare say. You remember you said once men never died of love, though
women might. In his one note to me, he spoke so beautifully of you, and
begged me to be kind to you for his sake, that I try to be with all my
heart, though if it was anyone but you, I really think I should hate
them for making my dear boy so unhappy."
"You are too kind, Bella, and I often think I'll go away to relieve you
of my presence; but unwise and dangerous as it is to stay, I haven't the
courage to go. I've been so happy here." And as she spoke, Jean's head
dropped lower over the dog as it nestled to her affectionately.
Before Bella could utter half the loving words that sprang to her lips,
Coventry came to them with all languor gone from face and mien, and
laying Jean's letter before her, he said, with an undertone of deep
feeling in his usually emotionless voice, "A right womanly and eloquent
letter, but I fear it will only increase the fire it was meant to
quench. I pity my brother more than ever now."