“If I succeed,” said Alfred, “it will be time enough afterwards to say what next.”
“You'll marry that gal, sir, and come out to the States. I see it all as if I read it in a book.”
Alfred shook his head doubtfully, and was silent.
“Well, I 'm a-goin' to Milan with Harvey Winthrop; and when I see the country, as we say, I 'll tell you about the clearin'.”
“You'll write to me too?”
“That I will. It may be that she won't have outright forgotten me, and if so, she 'll be more friendly with me than an uncle she has never seen nor known about. I 'll soon find out if her head's turned by all this good luck, or if, as I hope, the fortune has fallen on one as deserved it. Mayhap she 'll be for goin' over to America at once; mayhap she 'll have a turn for doing it grand here, in Europe. Harvey Winthrop says she 'll have money enough to buy up one of these little German States, and be a princess if she likes; at all events you shall hear, and then in about a month hence look out for me some fine evening, for I tell you, sir, I've got so used to it now, that I can't get through the day without a talk with you; and though the doctor and I do have a bout now and then over the Yankees, I 'd like to see the man who 'd abuse America before him, and say one word against England in the face of Shaver Quackinboss.”
CHAPTER X. THE LETTER FROM ALFRED LAYTON
When Sir William Heathcote learned that Mrs. Morris had quitted his house, gone without one word of adieu, his mind reverted to all the bygone differences with his son, and to Charles did he at once ascribe the cause of her sudden flight. His health was in that state in which agitation becomes a serious complication, and for several days he was dangerously ill, violent paroxysms of passion alternating with long intervals of apathy and unconsciousness. The very sight of Charles in his room would immediately bring on one of his attacks of excitement, and even the presence of May Leslie herself brought him no alleviation of suffering. It was in vain that she assured him that Mrs. Morris left on reasons known only to herself; that even to May herself she had explained nothing, written nothing. The old man obstinately repeated his conviction that she had been made the victim of an intrigue, and that Charles was at the bottom of it. How poor May strove to combat this unjust and unworthy suspicion, how eagerly she defended him she loved, and how much the more she learned to love for the defending of him. Charles, too, in this painful emergency, displayed a moderation and self-control for which May had never given him credit. Not a hasty word or impatient expression escaped him, and he was unceasing in every attention to his father which he could render without the old man's knowledge. It was a very sad household; on every side there was sickness and sorrow, but few of those consolations that alleviate pain or lighten suffering. Sir William desired to be left almost always alone; Charles walked moodily by himself in the garden; and May kept her room, and seldom left it. Lord Agincourt came daily to ask after them, but could see no one. Even Charles avoided meeting him, and merely sent him a verbal message, or a few hasty lines with a pencil.
Upwards of a week had passed in this manner, when, among the letters from the post, which Charles usually opened and only half read through, came a very long epistle from Alfred Layton. His name was on the corner of the envelope, and, seeing it, Charles tossed the letter carelessly across the table to May, saying, in a peevish irony, “You may care to see what your old admirer has to say; as for me, I have no such curiosity.”