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Updated: June 19, 2025
You see how I try to note down every trifle, knowing your anxiety. "Christal was sitting at the window, gazing at the high, blank, convent-like walls. Dull, helpless misery was in every line of her face and attitude. But the moment she saw me she rose up, her eyes darting fire. "'Have you come to insult me, Mr. Gwynne? Did I not send you word I would see no one?
"But I will find out this plot too," and she began to unfold the paper. "The letter give me that letter. Oh, Christal! for the happiness of your whole life, I charge you I implore you not to read it!" cried Olive, springing forward, and catching her arm. But Christal thrust her back with violence. "'Tis something you wish to hide from me; but I defy you! I will read!"
It was not without several inquiries, and more than one mistake, that, at the end of a long and dusky passage, composed of boards so wasted by time that they threatened to give way under his feet, Julian at length found the name of Martin Christal, broker and appraiser, upon a shattered door.
Gwynne, who seemed to have over her that strong rule which was instinctive in such a woman. She it was who brought Christal her meals, and compelled her to take them; or else, in her sullen misery, the girl would, as she threatened, have starved herself to death. And though many a stormy contest arose between the two, when Mrs.
She had rarely called her Olive of late. "Nay, my dears," interposed Mrs. Rothesay, "do not begin to talk just yet not until I am gone to bed; for I am very, very tired" And so, until Olive came downstairs again, Christal sat in dignified solitude by the parlour fire. "Well," said Miss Rothesay, when she entered, "what have you to say to me, my dear child?"
Not long had Olive to ponder, for the door once more opened, and Christal came in. Her hair had all fallen down, her eyes had the same intense glare, her bonnet and shawl were still hanging on her arm. She flung them aside, and stood in the doorway. "Miss Rothesay, I wish to speak with you; and that no one may interrupt us, I will do this."
And so, with her head on the same pillow, and her arm thrown round her mother's neck, Olive lay as she had lain every night for so many years. Once or twice Mrs. Rothesay spoke again, as passing thoughts seemed to arise; but her mind was perfectly composed and clear. She mentioned several that she regarded among the rest, Mrs. Gwynne, to whom she left "her love." "And to Christal too, Olive.
"I am so glad! for his sake, good dear Lyle!" "Dear Lyle!" repeated Christal, turning round with a sparkle either of pleasure or anger in her glittering eyes; but it was quenched before it reached those of Olive. "Well, winning is one thing, deserving is another!" she continued, merrily.
Trembling, Olive crept up and touched her; Christal recoiled, and stamped on the ground, crying: "It is all a lie, a hideous lie! You have forged it to shame me in the eyes of my lover." "Not so," said Olive, most tenderly; "no one in the wide world knows this, but we two. No one ever shall know it! Oh, would that you had listened to me, then I should still have kept the secret, even from you!
It was mid-winter before the inhabitants of the Dell were visited by their friend, Lyle Derwent, now grown a rich and important personage. Olive rather regretted his apparent neglect, for it grieved her to suspect a change in any one whom she regarded. Christal only mocked the while, at least in outside show.
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