Austen did not speak.

“In more ways than one,” said Euphrasia.  “I didn’t look to find her so natural—­and so gentle.  And their she has a way of scolding you, just as Sarah Austen had, that you’d never suspect.”

“Did she scold you—­Phrasie?” asked Austen.  And the irresistible humour that is so near to sorrow made him smile again.

“Indeed she did!  And it surprised, me some—­coming right out of a summer sky.  I told her what I thought about Hilary, and how he’d driven you out of your own mother’s house.  She said you’d ought to be sent for, and I said you oughtn’t to set foot in this house until Hilary sent for you.  She said I’d no right to take such a revenge—­that you’d come right away if you knew Hilary’d had a stroke, and that Hilary’d never send for you —­because he couldn’t.  She said he was like a man on a desert island.”

“She was right,” answered Austen.

“I don’t know about that,” said Euphrasia; “she hadn’t put up with Hilary for forty years, as I had, and seen what he’d done to your mother and you.  But that’s what she said.  And she went for you herself, when she found the doctor couldn’t go.  Austen, ain’t you going to see her?”

Austen shook his head gently, and smiled at her.

“I’m afraid it’s no use, Phrasie,” he said.  “Just because she has been —­kind we mustn’t be deceived.  It’s h er nature to be kind.”

Euphrasia crossed the room swiftly, and seized his arm again.

“She loves you, Austen,” she cried; “she loves you.  Do you think that I’d love her, that I’d plead for her, if she didn’t?”

Austen’s breath came deeply.  He disengaged himself, and went to the window.

“No,” he said, “you don’t know.  You can’t—­know.  I have only seen her—­a few times.  She lives a different life—­and with other people.  She will marry a man who can give her more.”

“Do you think I could be deceived?” exclaimed Euphrasia, almost fiercely.  “It’s as true as the sun shining on that mountain.  You believe she loves the Englishman, but I tell you she loves you—­you.”

He turned towards her.

“How do you know?” he asked, as though he were merely curious.

“Because I’m a woman, and she’s a woman,” said Euphrasia.  “Oh, she didn’t confess it.  If she had, I shouldn’t think so much of her.  But she told me as plain as though she had spoken it in words, before she left this room.”

Austen shook his head again.

“Phrasie,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ve been building castles in Spain.”  And he went out, and across to the stable to harness Pepper.