An hour later Lord Clydesfold was seated in his little dining-room of The Dell. His man had rushed home and prepared a meal, and with affectionate anxiety had insisted upon his master’s eating some of it; and Clydesfold sat thinking of the woman he loved, the woman for whose sake he would have given his life, and yet whom he dared not go near, when the door opened and the servant announced:
“Mr. Vanley.”
Faradeane sprang to his feet, and took the trembling hands which the squire held out to him; and for a space the two men looked into each other’s eyes in silence.
Then the old man found his voice.
“What can I say, my lord?” he faltered. “No words I could find would express a tenth part of all I feel—of my gratitude, my unspeakable gratitude to you! I have never read of a nobler act than yours. You would have given your life to shield my child’s name from even the reflection of shame!”
“Yes,” said the other in a low, grave voice, as he led the old man to a chair, “and would do it again to-morrow. Tell me how she is, sir. All concealment between us is destroyed forever. You know how it is with me, how it has been ever since we first met. I have loved her, sir——”
He stopped.
“Dearer than your own life,” said the squire, solemnly. “I do not know how she is. I expected to carry her home more dead than alive; but she has not broken down or given way. Bessie, who has been like a sister and as good as gold, says that my girl will not give way; that—that—I can scarcely speak of him”—and he shuddered—“that the sense of freedom, absolute freedom from that man, will sustain Olivia even through so terrible an ordeal as that through which she has passed; the sense of freedom and—and”—he pressed Clydesfold’s hand—“the knowledge that you are safe.”
Clydesfold turned his head to hide the expression of joy which lit up his face.
“I have come to you not only to try and thank you, but to ask you what I am to do. When Bessie left the court at an intimation—a mere word and look—from Olivia, the girl went to the Grange and got a letter of Bradstone’s which he had given to Olivia on her wedding day.” He shuddered again. “This letter contained the voucher for a large sum of money he had given her, the price”—he went on bitterly—“of her hand; the money to save me from the ruin which hung over me, and which will now crush me. I care nothing for that. But I do care most earnestly and deeply that you should know I was ignorant of this—this barter.”