“Oh, we can settle all that afterward.”
“And that Henderson, what became of him?” now asked John Temple.
“Well, after that blow he got, you know, he was very ill. He had brain fever, or something like it, and when he got a little better his mother took him away. They have not been at home all the winter, and Stourton Grange is shut up. Some people say Henderson is in a lunatic asylum, but it may not be true.”
“He drank, did he not?” said Temple, coldly.
“So they said. I can not tell, but I think he never got over the death of that girl.”
But a moment later Mrs. Temple wished her words unsaid. John Temple rose restlessly and began walking slowly up and down the room, and a few minutes later asked leave to retire. It was more painful even than he had expected, coming back to Woodlea, and he felt that it would be impossible for him to remain. In the meanwhile the news of his arrival had reached Woodside Farm. One of Mr. Churchill’s neighbors had called during the evening, and told Mr. Churchill, not without motives of curiosity, that he had seen “the new squire at the station.”
“What! are you sure?” asked Mr. Churchill, eagerly.
“Quite sure,” answered the neighbor; “I went to the station about getting the turnip seed, and saw one of the Hall carriages standing there. I know the coachman, and I asked if anyone was expected, and he said Mr. John Temple, the new Squire, was coming home from foreign parts, and he was waiting for him.”
“And,” said Mr. Churchill, with faltering tongue, and his bronzed face grew a little pale, “did you see him arrive?”