"The double-faced jade!" cried Peyton, with an oath. "The heartless coquette!" groaned Neville.
Father Francis made excuses for her:—"Nay, nay, she is not the first of her sex that did not know her own mind all at once. Besides, we men are blind in matters of love: perhaps a woman would have read her from the first. After all she was not bound to give us the eyes to read a female heart."
He next reminded Neville that Gaunt had been her servant for years. "You knew that," said he, "yet you came between them—at your peril. Put yourself in his place: say you had succeeded would not his wrong be greater than yours is now? Come, be brave; be generous; he is wounded, he is disinherited; only his love is left him: 'tis the poor man's lamb; and would you take it?"
"Oh, I have not a word to say against the man," said George, with a mighty effort.
"And what use quarreling with a woman?" suggested the practical priest.
"None whatever," said George, sullenly. After a moment's silence he rang the bell feverishly. "Order my horse round directly," said he: then he sat down, and buried his face in his hands, and did not, and could not, listen to the voice of consolation.
Now the house was full of spies in petticoats, amateur spies, that ran and told the mistress everything of their own accord, to curry favor.
And this no doubt was the cause that, just as the groom walked the piebald out of the stable towards the hall door, a maid came to Father Francis with a little note: he opened it, and found these words written faintly, in a fine Italian hand:—
"I scarce knew my own heart till I saw him wounded and poor, and myself rich at his expense. Entreat Mr. Neville to forgive me."
He handed the note to Neville without a word.