“Then,” said Una, in a low voice, which she tried vainly to keep steady—“then it is something concerning Jack. Oh, why do you keep me in suspense?”
Her misery maddened him.
“I will tell you that he is quite well,” he said, almost sharply. “I left him in perfect health. I dined with him, and he made an excellent dinner.”
“You are angry with him! What has he done to make you angry?” she asked.
He raised her hand, and let it fall with a gesture of noble indignation.
“What has he done?” he repeated, as if to himself. “I can find no words to describe it adequately. My poor Una!”
And he turned to her, and laid his hand caressingly and pityingly on her arm.
Una, white and cold, was all unconscious of his touch.
Stephen drew her gently to a low seat, and stood over her, his hand resting with the same caressing pity on her arm.
“Yes, I must tell you,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Would to Heaven I had been spared the task. Dear Una! you will be calm—I know your brave spirit and true, courageous heart. You will summon all your strength to bear the blow it is left for me to deal you—me who would lay down my life to spare you a moment’s pain!”