“I’ve no doubt of it,” Margery said; “but, darling, if you do that he will have a right to expect you to marry him. Sending for him to come back would mean nothing else, nor would anything else satisfy him.” “Then he must go,” Queenie answered, with a rain of tears. “I cannot marry my cousin; that is a part of my religion. It would be hideous to do it. Phil must go; but my whole life goes with him. Oh, Phil, I am nothing, nothing without you. Why were you so silly as to fall in love and so spoil everything?” That night, as Margery sat with her mother over their tea talking of Queenie, Mrs. La Rue said to her; “If Mr. Rossiter were not her cousin, do you think she would marry him?” “I have no doubt of it,” Margery replied. “She fancies she does not love him _in that way_, as she expresses it, but if the obstacle of cousinship were removed, I believe she would feel differently. Poor little girl, she is so cast down and wretched, thinking she has driven him away to die, as she declares he will.” Mrs. La Rue had listened intently to all Margery told her of Reinette’s distress, and there were tears in her eyes as she cleared away the tea things, and busied herself with her household cares. “Poor little girl,” she whispered to herself. “Would her love for him outweigh everything—everything, I wonder? Is it mightier than her pride?” CHAPTER XXVIII. MRS. LA RUE’S RESOLUTION. There was a worn, tired look on Mrs. La Rue’s face next morning, which she accounted for by saying she had not slept well, and that her head was aching. A walk in the crisp autumn air would do her good, she said; and soon after breakfast she left the house, and started toward Hetherton Place. Twice on the causeway she sat down to rest, and once on the bank by the side of the road which led up the long hill. Here she sat for a long time, with her head bowed upon her knees, while she seemed to be absorbed in painful, and even agonized reflection, for she rocked to and fro, and whispered occasionally to herself. In the distance there was the sound of wheels—some one was coming; and not caring to be seen, she arose, and climbing the low stone wall, went up the steep hill-side to the ledge of rocks, where Phil had sat with Queenie and heard his doom. It was the first time Mrs. La Rue had ever been there, and for a moment she stood transfixed with surprise and delight at the lovely view before her. In the clear autumn air objects were visible for miles and miles away, but it was not so much at the distant landscape she gazed as at the scene directly about her—at the broad, rich acres of Hetherton Place, stretching away to the westward, and southward, and eastward, and embracing some of the most valuable land in Merrivale; at the house itself, standing there on the heights so stately and grand, with aristocracy and blood showing themselves from every casement and door-post; and lastly, at the beautiful grounds, so