Rachel, dearest Rachel, I offer you my modest home; come to
London by the next train, love, and share it with me!"
Mr. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at me with a cruel astonishment
which she made no effort to conceal.
"You are very kind, Drusilla," she said. "I shall hope to visit you
whenever I happen to be in London. But I have accepted Mr. Bruff's
invitation, and I think it will be best, for the present, if I remain
under Mr. Bruff's care."
"Oh, don't say so!" I pleaded. "I can't part with you, Rachel--I can't
part with you!"
I tried to fold her in my arms. But she drew back. My fervour did not
communicate itself; it only alarmed her.
"Surely," she said, "this is a very unnecessary display of agitation? I
don't understand it."
"No more do I," said Mr. Bruff.
Their hardness--their hideous, worldly hardness--revolted me.
"Oh, Rachel! Rachel!" I burst out. "Haven't you seen yet, that my heart
yearns to make a Christian of you? Has no inner voice told you that I am
trying to do for you, what I was trying to do for your dear mother when
death snatched her out of my hands?"
Rachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at me very strangely.
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