Cynthia knew nothing of Mrs. Vane's visit to London. She expected to meet a trained nurse only, and the Jenkins—Sabina Meldreth and the doctor perhaps beside, but no one else. She set forth at an hour which would enable her to reach the house when Hubert was likely to be up—at least, if he were able to leave his bed. She did not know what she was going to say to him—what line she was about to take. She only knew that she could not bear to be away from him any longer, and that love and forgiveness were the two thoughts uppermost in her mind.
She was not aware that her father had considered it unfit for her to go alone to Russell Square. He had followed her all the way from Clerkenwell, and was in the square immediately behind herself. When she mounted the steps and rang the bell, he crossed the road and walked along the pavement by the gardens in the middle of the square. Here he fancied that he should be unobserved. He saw the door opened; he saw Cynthia making her inquiries of the servant. Then she went in, and the door was shut.
He waited for some time. Presently a man, whom he knew to be the faithful Jenkins, appeared on the steps of the house and looked about him. Then he crossed the road and advanced to Westwood, who was leaning against the railings.
"Mr. Reuben Dare, I think?" he said, touching his hair respectfully. Westwood stared at the sound of that name. "Miss West and Mr. Lepel wants to know if you will kindly come up-stairs. They have a word or two to say, and they hope that you will not fail to come."
Westwood smiled to himself—a rather peculiar smile.
"All right," he said; "if they want me to come, I'll come. But I think they had both better have let me stay away."
Nevertheless he followed Jenkins to the house.
CHAPTER XLIX.
The door had been opened to Cynthia by a strange servant. She asked if Mr. Lepel was at home—a conventionalism of which she immediately repented. Was he well enough to see anybody, at least? she asked.