“Shall I not give her back happiness at the cost of my own?” he determined. “I will go to him, and if he is a cur, she shall never know; if not—”
His face was very gray and pale, but he had made up his mind. He would see John Temple, and he and May must decide their fate.
CHAPTER XLIII.
STRANGE NEWS.
The next day was a wet and dreary one, almost a storm. The wind sighed through the budding trees at Woodlea Hall, and the rain beat against the window panes. A bright fire was, however, burning in the library during the afternoon, and the new master, John Temple, was there, and Mrs. Temple, the widow of the old one.
John Temple was smoking endless cigarettes and reading. He was nearly always smoking now, and Mrs. Temple declared she delighted in the smell of tobacco. She in truth delighted to be in John Temple’s company, and nearly always contrived to be so.
Presently John Temple rose from his easy chair and flung the remains of his last cigarette into the grate, and having lit a new one began walking restlessly up and down the long room, and Mrs. Temple’s dark eyes followed his tall, slight form as he did so.
“What are you thinking of, John?” at last she asked.
“Can’t tell,” he answered somewhat listlessly; “the wind disquiets me, I think.”
“It is a storm,” she said, and then she also rose, and went first to one of the windows of the room and looked out. Presently she turned around and joined John Temple, and slid her hand through his arm and began walking by his side.