“She has gone away? run away, do you mean?”
“She left a letter. He will show it you. There must not be any scandal, Richard. Some plausible explanation must be given. She went away before lunch—on foot, and by herself. When I went to look for her, she was gone, and only the letter was left, and I took it to uncle, and he read it, and almost broke down before the servants. But you know what he is. In another moment no one would have thought anything was the matter—not until I had him alone. O, Richard! what is it? Everything seems dark and miserable. And you know, and you won’t tell me.”
“I will tell you if you ask me to; but you will not ask me, dear—not yet. I see another stroke of scoundrelism in this, perhaps. Why didn’t I send him to his death! I believe I should have, if I’d known—the smiling cursed devil!”
“Richard! Who?—you are terrifying me out of my senses.”
“My love, you must not. Look, little girl—little dear, dear girl. I am holding you—I am Richard, your lover—your lover who puts his strong arms about you, and tells you it shall all come right. Will you not trust me?”
“Yes, I will—I will, Richard. Only your violence makes me sick for you.”
“It makes me sick for myself, to think I cannot control it before my bird with her beating heart. Be quiet, little soft frightened heart! Now kiss me, Ira, as I hold you so; and then I will go to him without a moment’s more delay.”
Yet, for all my resolution, my own heart was beating violently as I went to seek the old man in his study, where he sat alone. He was at his desk, his head leaned upon his hand. The lights were lit, but not enough to flood the room, which lay in partial shadow. It gave me a pitiful shock, as he turned his face, to see how haggard it was, how unkempt his hair, so sprucely groomed in general, how all in a base moment his age had betrayed him. He started upon recognising me, and gave a heavy sigh, and rose as if to move, but, feeling his weakness, sank down again, with a forced laugh.
“Egad!” said he—“and I’ve drunk nothing. You must come to the mountain, Mahomet, as it can’t come to you.”
I took a chair by the desk, and, leaning forward, looked at him earnestly.