In the face of anguish like this, I could not keep still.
“Dear Miss Leavenworth,” I essayed, “there is no cause for such despair as this. The future looks dark, but not impenetrable. Your cousin will listen to reason, and in explaining——”
But she, deaf to my words, had again risen to her feet, and stood before me in an attitude almost appalling.
“Some women in my position would go mad! mad! mad!”
I surveyed her with growing wonder. I thought I knew what she meant. She was conscious of having given the cue which had led to this suspicion of her cousin, and that in this way the trouble which hung over their heads was of her own making. I endeavored to soothe her, but my efforts were all unavailing. Absorbed in her own anguish, she paid but little attention to me. Satisfied at last that I could do nothing more for her, I turned to go. The movement seemed to arouse her.
“I am sorry to leave,” said I, “without having afforded you any comfort. Believe me; I am very anxious to assist you. Is there no one I can send to your side; no woman friend or relative? It is sad to leave you alone in this house at such a time.”
“And do you expect me to remain here? Why, I should die! Here to-night?” and the long shudders shook her very frame.
“It is not at all necessary for you to do so, Miss Leavenworth,” broke in a bland voice over our shoulders.
I turned with a start. Mr. Gryce was not only at our back, but had evidently been there for some moments. Seated near the door, one hand in his pocket, the other caressing the arm of his chair, he met our gaze with a sidelong smile that seemed at once to beg pardon for the intrusion, and to assure us it was made with no unworthy motive. “Everything will be properly looked after, Miss; you can leave with perfect safety.”
I expected to see her resent this interference; but instead of that, she manifested a certain satisfaction in beholding him there.