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Charles, on being sent for by the Duke, was nowhere to be found. That was because he was in South Winch. He had gone off at daybreak in his car, and at the very moment his father woke up to the fact of his absence and asked where he was, he was standing in the drawing-room at Almond Tree Cottage, his eyes fixed eagerly on the door, waiting for Mrs. Luke.
He hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking of her. Somehow he had got it into his head that she, more than her son, would suffer through Sally’s disappearance, and be afraid. Because, thought Charles, she would feel that it was from her the girl had run, and that any misfortune that might happen to her would be, terribly, laid at her door. For two whole days and two whole nights that unfortunate woman must have gone through torture. What Charles couldn’t understand was why he hadn’t thought of this before. Indeed his and Laura’s conduct had been utterly unpardonable. The least he could now do, he thought, as he lay wide awake throughout the night, was to get to South Winch without losing a minute, and put Mrs. Luke out of her misery, and beg her forgiveness.
She was in the garden when he arrived. The little maid, staring at the card he asked her to take to her mistress, said she would fetch her, and ushered him into the drawing-room, where he waited with the books, the bright cushions, the Tiepolo, and two withered tulips in a glass from which nearly all the water had dried away; and while he waited he fought with a feeling he considered most contemptible, in face of the facts, that he was somehow on an errand of mercy, and arriving with healing in his wings,—that he was somehow a benefactor.
Sternly he told himself he ought to feel nothing but shame; sternly he tried to suppress his glow of misplaced self-satisfaction. There was nothing good about him and Laura in this business. They had, the pair of them, been criminally impulsive and selfish. He knew it; he acknowledged it. Yet here he was, secretly glowing, his eyes watching the door, as much excited as if he were going to bestow a most magnificently generous, unexpected present.
Then it opened, and Mrs. Luke came in. He was sure it was Mrs. Luke, for no one else could look so unhappy; and the glow utterly vanished, and the feeling of shame and contrition became overwhelming.
‘She’s safe,’ said Charles quickly, eager to put a stop at once to the expression in her eyes. ‘She’s at my father’s. She’s going to Cambridge today to your son. She’s been with us the whole time——’
And he went to her, and took her hand and kissed it.
‘If it weren’t so ridiculous,’ he said, his face flushed with painful contrition, still holding her hand and looking into her heavy, dark-ringed eyes, ‘I’d very much like to go down on my knees to you, and beg your pardon.’