Henderson gave a sort of sigh of relief; after all, May had gone alone.
“How do you mean about a blind?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.
“Well, Mr. Henderson, I will trust you; I know you liked this foolish girl, and you know what I wished concerning yourself and her. Therefore, I expect this will go no farther. But my belief is, that though she certainly ran away with no one from here, that someone will join her, and this is why I trust you. Do you know of any lover—any admirer she had?”
A dark-red dusky flush rose to Henderson’s pale face.
“No—” he said, “unless—”
“Unless whom?”
Henderson began moving restlessly up and down the room with irregular footsteps.
“There is that fellow,” he said, at length, “that is to be Mr. Temple of Woodlea’s heir, they say—well, I’ve seen May with him more than once. I saw her with him just after the boy’s death, and another time,” and then he suddenly paused, remembering that it was in Fern Dene that he had twice seen May with John Temple.
“I know she knew him; she was thrown with him, you see, when that unfortunate girl committed suicide, but I scarcely think there could be anything between them, though certainly on the very day of our return here after our marriage trip, we found him here.”
“You found him here?”