Guy was almost giddy with surprise. He held one of Mr. Edmonstone’s hands, and pressed it hard; his other hand he passed over his eyes, as if in a dream. ‘All right?’ he repeated.
‘All right!’ said Mr. Edmonstone. ‘I know where your money went, and I honour you for it, and there stands the man who told me the whole story. I said, from the first, it was a confounded slander. It was all owing to the little girl.’
Guy turned his face in amazement towards his uncle, who was only waiting to explain. ‘Never till this morning had I the least suspicion that I had been the means of bringing you under any imputation. How could you keep me in ignorance?’
‘You have told—’
‘Of the cheque,’ broke in Mr. Edmonstone, ‘and of all the rest, and of your providing for the little girl. How could you do it with that pittance of an allowance of yours? And Master Philip saying you never had any money! No wonder, indeed!’
‘If I had known you were pinching yourself,’ said Dixon, ‘my mind would have revolted—’
‘Let me understand it,’ said Guy, grasping the back of a chair. ‘Tell me, Markham. Is it really so? Am I cleared? Has Mr. Edmonstone a right to be satisfied?’
‘Yes, Sir Guy,’ was Markham’s direct answer. ‘Mr. Dixon has accounted for your disposal of the thirty pound cheque, and there is an end of the matter.’
Guy drew a long breath, and the convulsive grasp of his fingers relaxed.
‘I cannot thank you enough!’ said he to his uncle; then to Mr. Edmonstone, ‘how is Charles?’