Leo shook his head and flushed. "I can't bring myself to do that," he said in a low voice. "She has insulted me so deeply that it goes against my nature to eat humble pie. I would rather make my own way in the world. As to Sybil, I shall not ask her to engage herself to me until--as you say--I can offer her a home."
"You can do nothing but enlist, I suppose?"
"No. Soldiering is all I am fit for. Now that my name has been cleared I will bid farewell to Sybil and enlist straight away. She will wait for me, I am certain. I get my commission I can perhaps see my way to make her my wife. If I am shot--well," Leo shrugged his shoulders, "there is an end to all things."
"Haverleigh!" said Marton, after a pause. "Will you tell me what reason your aunt has for disliking you so much?"
"I don't know. She has always been stern and hard with me. Lately she has openly hated me. That is why I left her."
"There is something connected with you that is wrong?"
"Not to my knowledge. I have been foolish, but not wilfully wicked."
"I know that. But Mrs Gabriel knows something--it may be about your parents--that has prejudiced the vicar against you. It was her influence that made him turn against you. He admitted as much to me. But he refused to say what she had told him."
"I guessed all this," said Leo, quietly; "but what can I do?"
"Insist upon knowing what has been said. You have a right to. If the vicar will not speak out--and he has given his word not to--Mrs Gabriel may be forced to do so. Were I you, Haverleigh, I should see her and insist upon an explanation."
"I should force it out of her," said Marton, determinedly. "Oh! I know she is a hard woman, but if you persevere she must give way."
Leo thought for a few moments. "Well, Marton," he said at length, "I will see the vicar first and speak to him on the subject of Sybil. From what he says I may see the reason of his attitude towards me. Then I can call upon Mrs Gabriel. You may be sure I shall do my best."
Marton nodded, but said no more for the present, as by this time they were at the door of Hale's house. A demure servant opened the door and took in their names. Shortly she ushered them into a room where Sir Frank was seated in a chair by the window reading to his sister. Edith Hale looked pale and ill. She lay on a sofa, but started up and blushed rosy red when she saw Leo. There was no doubt that the poor girl was deeply in love with the young man. Leo, in the kindness of his heart, felt a pang. It seemed to him that he was treating her cruelly, although the position was none of his making.