A Rose of a Hundred Leaves: A Love Story
“No, he isn’t. I made sure of that.”

“Brune, I want to go to Redware. Perhaps his sister may tell me the truth. Go with me. Oh, Brune, go with me! I am dying of suspense and uncertainty.”

“Ay, they’re fit to kill anybody, let alone a little lass like you. It will put William about, and it may make bad bread between us; but I’ll go with you, even if we do have a falling out. I’m not flayed for William’s rages.”

The next market-day Brune kept his word. As soon as Squire Anneys had climbed the fell breast and passed over the brow of the hill, Brune was at the door with horses for Aspatria and himself. She was a good rider, and they made the distance, in spite of hills and hollows, in two hours. Lady Redware was troubled at the visit, but she came to the door to welcome Aspatria, and she asked Brune with particular warmth to come into the house with his sister. Brune knew better; he was sure in such a case that it would prove a mere formal call, and that Aspatria would 67 never have the courage to ask the questions she wished to.

67

But Aspatria had come to that point of mental suffering when she wanted to know the truth, even though the truth was the worst. Lady Redware saw the determination on her face, and resolved to gratify it. She was shocked at the change in Aspatria’s appearance. Her beauty was, in a measure, gone. Her eyes were hollow, and the lids dark and swollen with weeping. Her figure was more angular. The dew of youth, the joy of youth, was over. She drooped like a fading flower. If Ulfar saw her in such condition he might pity, but assuredly he would not admire her.

Lady Redware kissed the poor girl. “Come in, my dear,” she said kindly. “How ill you look! Here is wine: take a drink.”

“I am ill. I even hope I am dying. Life is so hard to bear. Ulfar has forgotten me. I have vexed him, and cannot find out in what way. If you would only tell me!”

68

“You have not vexed him at all.”

“What then?”

“He is tired, or he has seen a fresher face. That is Ulfar’s great fault. He loves too well, because he does not love very long. Can you not forget him?”


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