“I believe I know your secret,” she remarked suddenly. He made no reply. Mrs. Ramsay was no doubt thinking of Aurea, whilst he was dwelling on the bargain with his uncle. Should he tell her? They had of late been drawn so much to one another—she already knew half his story, and had just given him the photographs of his father and mother—her husband and his father had been like brothers—yes—he would!
And there in the semi-dusk, leaning his hands on the back of a chair, in as few words as possible, he related his tale, and how he had made a solemn compact for two years, which compact he was bound to keep to the letter and the bitter end.
“And it’s a good deal more bitter than I expected,” he concluded.
Listening with tightly folded hands, the slim figure in black accorded him her entire sympathy. Now she was in possession of all his confidence, and such was his unhappy plight, he was desperately in love with a girl, and could neither speak nor show a sign—nor make his real position known. What an amazing state of affairs! Did Aurea recognise in Wynyard a silent worshipper? And was it not true that love and smoke cannot be concealed?
“You will keep this to yourself, I know,” he said. “I’m not sure that I’m within my right in telling you, but somehow I had to.”
“You may be certain I shall never breathe it till you give me permission,” she answered, drawing a long breath; “but what an extraordinary man your uncle must be!”
“Yes, he is eccentric; but I believe he is right—this sort of apprenticeship will do me a jolly lot of good. I know more of the people now I’m one of them. Many a thing I’ve learnt here, that I’d never have had a glimpse of, and I must tell you fair and square that I gave Uncle Dick a lot of bother in the way of my debts.”
“Hereditary extravagance—your father—a younger son—drove a four-in-hand, you know. Ah, here comes Aurea,” as the little gate swung. “I half promised to go over there this evening.”
“Then good-bye, I’m off; I’ll finish the packing to-morrow,” and he escaped through the back garden.
It was abundantly evident that of late Miss Morven avoided him, and he had not spoken to her since the tragic occasion when they both hung over a dying man on the high road to Upstreet.