"Seward," he said at last, addressing his friend, who had not yet come to the end of the last crossed page.
"Is there anything wrong?" said Seward.
"Well;—yes; there is something a little wrong. I fear I must leave you, and go up to town to-day."
"Nobody ill, I hope?"
"No;—nobody is ill. But I must go up to London. Mrs. Bole will take care of you, and you must not be angry with me for leaving you."
Seward assured him that he would not be in the least angry, and that he was thoroughly conversant with the capabilities and good intentions of Mrs. Bole the housekeeper; but added, that as he was so near his own college, he would of course go back to Cambridge. He longed to say some word as to the purpose of Grey's threatened journey; to make some inquiry as to this new trouble; but he knew that Grey was a man who did not well bear close inquiries, and he was silent.
"Why not stay here?" said Grey, after a minute's pause. "I wish you would, old fellow; I do, indeed." There was a tone of special affection in his voice which struck Seward at once. "If I can be of the slightest service or comfort to you, I will of course."
Grey again sat silent for a little while. "I wish you would; I do, indeed."
"Then I will." And again there was a pause.
"I have got a letter here from—Miss Vavasor," said Grey.