"The earl!" said poor Blair, with a bitter laugh. "What does he care?"
"Or to Violet. Don't be angry, now," for Blair had turned upon him almost savagely. "She is your friend, and you know it. Why don't you go and see her?"
"Why? Because I can go and see no one!" groaned the unhappy man. "I tell you my lost darling haunts me continually. I see her so plainly sometimes that I can scarcely believe she is really dead!"
Austin Ambrose started, then smiled reassuringly to himself.
"How can I mix with my fellow men in the state I am in? You must give me time, man!" he cried almost savagely. "Give me time!"
They had reached Blair's chambers by this, and with a nod he turned and slowly mounted the stairs.
Austin Ambrose, left alone, leant against the lamp-post and, panting a little, lit a cigar, his cold, gray eyes fixed upon the light that shone in Blair's window.
"You fool!" he muttered. "You simple fool! I've got you in my net—and her, too! Give you time! Yes, you shall have time, but whether you take long or come quickly I have got you!"
For a week after this Austin Ambrose saw nothing of him; he was missed at his club, and—very much—missed at the Green Tables. No one could tell where he had gone, but in truth he was wandering with a knapsack on his back through an out-of-the-way part of the country, solitary and companionless save by his own sad thoughts.
At the end of the week Violet Graham was sitting moodily by the fire, thinking of him and of the dark mystery of Margaret Hale's death, wondering whether all her passionate desires would be fulfilled, when a servant opening the door quietly, said: