WYLDER'S HJiJVD.
197
"You blame your brother, Kachel, in this affair."
"Did I? Well — maybe — yes, he is to blame — the
miserable man — whom I hate to think of, and yet am
always thinking of — Stanley well knows is not in a state
to do it."
"Don't you think, Rachel, remembering what I have
confided to you, that you might be franker with me in
this?"
"Oh, Dorcas! don't misunderstand me. If the secret
were all my own — Heaven knows, hateful as it is, how
boldly I would risk all, and throw myself on your fidelity
or your mercy —but this is not mine —only in part —
that is, I dare not tell it — but may be soon free — and
to us all, dear Dorcas, a woful, woful day will it be."
"I made you a promise, Rachel," said her beautiful
cousin, gravely, and a little coldly and sadly, too; "I
will never break it again — it was thoughtless. Let us
each try to forget that there is anything hidden between
us."
"If ever the time comes, dear Dorcas, when I may tell
it to you, I don't know whether you will bless or hate me
for having kept it so well; at all events, I think you'll pity
me, and at last understand your miserable cousin."
"I said before, Rachel, that I liked you. You are one
of us, Rachel. You are beautiful, wayward, and daring,
and one way or another, misfortune always waylays us •
and / have, I know it, calamity before me. There is not
a beautiful portrait in Brandon that has not a sad and true
story. Come, Rachel, shall we escape from the spell and
the destiny into solitude? What do you think of my old
plan of the valleys and lakes of Wales; a pretty foreign
tongue spoken round us, and no one but ourselves to com-
mune with, and books, and music. It is not, Radie,
altogether jest. I sometimes yearn for it, as they say
foreign girls do for convent life."