CHAPTER VII.
Tremenhere lost no time now in following up his intentions; he inquired every where, and at last discovered that Burton was in town. Late that same evening, he returned home, and great was his satisfaction to find Skaife domiciled there. He, we have said, was the only man in the world, perhaps, of whom he could not feel jealous; where lay the germ of extraordinary confidence, 'tis impossible to say, but with open-hearted confidence he wrung Skaife's hand, which cheered poor Minnie's heart, for she was terrified at the fancies her mind had been conjuring up about Miles's return; and when he said to the other, "I am delighted to see you," there was no mistaking the truth of the feeling: Miles could not feign a cordiality he did not feel. The union of these three gave rise to one of the few happy evenings, or even tranquil ones, Minnie had passed of late. Skaife came laden with letters and love from Dorcas, and even poor Mrs. Gillett. Of the many painful things they had heard at Gatestone, he said nothing before Minnie; he spoke cheeringly, and did not even utter what he thought, of her being unhappy, when he gazed with a stifled sigh on her altered face. It was in good truth Minnie spiritualized; for she seemed scarcely mortal, so thin, pale, and heavenly patient she looked.
When she had retired, then Tremenhere, no longer under any restraint, spoke of all his care, his wretchedness, which he strove to conceal from her; but though he mentioned the reports which had reached him through Lady Dora, he passed them over lightly. There was no man to whom he would sooner have applied, as a friend in such a case, than to Skaife, but his calling forbade it; he could not act with Tremenhere, and this was what he now required in a friend; neither durst he confide in the other all his plans; they might be betrayed in kindness to Minnie, or, even more seriously, to authorities which would frustrate them. He spoke painedly of them, but yet, rather to Skaife's surprise, also added, that time alone must clear them up.
"I am a wretched man!" he said. "There is a weight on my heart nothing, I fear, can remove."
"Surely," cried the other, "you cannot, for an instant, suspect your wife? You must see, and know, that the deep villainy of one man alone, has produced all these sad events? Let me conjure you, do not give him the triumph of seeing that he has succeeded in estranging your heart from one so good and pure."
"Skaife, I never shall love any one as I love her; 'tis that love which makes my existence one of torture, for my base nature is fighting against my better judgment, and at times it gains the mastery. There are moments," and his voice trembled as he uttered these last words, "that I wish she were dead; for then I could alone, bear my crushing sorrow; but the fear that she may ever love another, or even survive myself, is worse than the bitterest death could be!"
"Do not utter such things!" exclaimed Skaife, with a cold shudder. "Place all your faith and reliance on her: she will never deceive you, but your own heart may, and prove your basest traitor."
"Well, let us not speak more of it now. A day of retribution must come for that villain, Burton; leave him to fate—she has long arms and clutching hands." His apparent coolness disappointed the other; for he felt, without thinking of a hostile meeting, that Tremenhere might, and ought to seek means of silencing these slanders, and he resolved on a future occasion to suggest as much to him.
Before returning to Chiswick from Brighton, Tremenhere had sought a friend on whom he could rely; and, placing the affair in his hands, requested that no time might be lost in seeking Burton, to solicit the name of a friend who would act for him, in a meeting with Tremenhere. No apology would suffice, unless he consented to publish to the world, in terms not to be misunderstood, the whole part he had taken in the affair, from first to last; and this it was scarcely likely he would do. Having arranged this, he returned, in the more tranquil mood in which we have seen him, to his home.