“It seems to be the one thing that keeps him up,” said Julius, surprised at the question.
“O, yes! I can’t—I could not stay away,” she said. “It is all so wrong together; yet this last time cannot hurt!”
“Last time?”
“Yes; did you not know that papa has set his heart on going to London to-morrow? Yes, early to-morrow. And it will be for ever. We shall never see Sirenwood again.”
She stood still, almost bent with the agony of suppressed grief.
“I am very sorry; but I do not wonder he wishes for change.”
“He has been in an agony to go these three days. It was all I could do to get him to stay to-day. You don’t think it will do Frank harm? Then I would stay, if I took lodgings in the village; but otherwise—poor papa—I think it is my duty—and he can’t do without me.”
“I think Frank is quite capable of understanding that you are forced to go, and that he need not be the worse for it.”
“And then,” she lowered her voice, “it does a little reconcile me that I don’t think we ought to go further into it till we can understand. I did make that dreadful vow. I know I ought not now; but still I did, in so many words.”
“You mean against a gambler?”