"And she?" He was painfully anxious to know whether Sir Thomas had been weak enough—or strong enough—to tell his wife any of the story which that morning had been told to him.
"She is doing what she can to comfort him," said Herbert; "but it is very hard for her to be left so utterly in the dark."
Mr. Prendergast was passing on to his room, but at the foot of the stairs Herbert stopped him again, going up the stairs with him, and almost whispering into his ear—
"I trust, Mr. Prendergast," said he, "that things are not to go on in this way."
"No, no," said Mr. Prendergast.
"Because it is unbearable—unbearable for my mother and for me, and for us all. My mother thinks that some terrible thing has happened to the property; but if so, why should I not be told?"
"Of anything that really has happened, or does happen, you will be told."
"I don't know whether you are aware of it, Mr. Prendergast, but I am engaged to be married. And I have been given to understand—that is, I thought that this might take place very soon. My mother seems to think that your coming here may—may defer it. If so, I think I have a right to expect that something shall be told to me."
"Certainly you have a right, my dear young friend. But Mr. Fitzgerald, for your own sake, for all our sakes, wait patiently for a few hours."
"I have waited patiently."