He, too, had a word to whisper. It was also a reminder.
“Remember, mother, not another word of the past. Her life begins from today.”
Then he looked at his watch, and said aloud:
“You will just have time to catch the train. Good-bye.”
With the most dutiful affection, he kissed his mother, then went round, and, bare-headed, offered his hand to Una.
“Good-bye, Miss Rolfe,” he said. “You are now starting on a new life. No one, not even your father, can more devoutly wish you the truest and fullest happiness than I do.”
Una, half-blinded with her tears, put her hand in his; but almost instantly drew it away, with something like a shudder. It was cold as ice.
The next moment the carriage started, and the two men were left alone.
For fully a minute they stood looking at it, till it had been swallowed up by the shadows of the trees; then Gideon turned, his face white and working.
“Stephen Davenant,” he said, in slow, measured tones, “one word with you before we part. You have gained your end—be what it may; I say for your sake, let it be for good; for if it be for evil, you have one to deal with who will not hold his hand to punish and avenge. Rather than let her know the heritage of shame which hangs over her, I have let her go. If you value your safety, guard her, for at your hands I require her happiness and well being.”