The lawyer took his departure, with a promise to see her again on the following morning.
Tom Gatliffe, when he returned home that evening, was perfectly bewildered when he had been made acquainted with all the circumstances connected with his young wife. A foreboding of evil took possession of him—he was forcibly and painfully impressed with the fact that the discovery was not unattended with danger. He could, however, refuse his wife nothing, and therefore gave his consent for her to accompany the lawyer to Broxbridge Hall.
On the following morning Mr. Chicknell presented himself. Aveline and her child were arrayed in their best attire, and left their cottage in Wood Green under the protection of the man at law.
A telegram had been sent to Broxbridge, advising its owner of the visit. An open landau awaited them upon their arrival at the station. In this Mr. Chicknell and his two companions were driven to the hall.
As they approached the fine old mansion Peace passed the carriage. His eyes were rivetted on the face of its female occupant, Aveline; he thought she looked more lovely than ever.
It was the first time he had seen her since the rejection of his suit in the garden of Mrs. Maitland’s house.
A host of contending emotions rushed through his brain as he witnessed the arrival of the carriage at the great gates of the hall.
“She does not condescend to honour me with a passing notice,” he ejaculated, in a voice of concentrated passion; “the stuck-up, proud minx, and but for me she would never have been discovered. Curses on it, I was a fool to give any information—worse than a fool. Much thanks shall I get from either her or her bumptious husband.”
He turned out of the high road and made for his workshop, but he was ill at ease. All the worst passions of his nature were in the ascendant, and he did not care about following his usual avocation.
For a long time he remained moody and thoughtful in his workshop. He was laying plans for the future.