Still Webster was silent.
“I shall, therefore,” went on John Temple, “at once telegraph to him that she is safe and well. As for you, Mr. Webster, I do not know how to thank you.”
“I need no thanks,” answered Webster a little hoarsely.
“I have the highest regard and liking for your aunts, and I hope now my poor little May will welcome them here. And you—you will dine and stay all night here?”
But Webster shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I must return by the next train to town; my mission here is ended—I will see—”
“May? Then I will travel with you. Yes, kindly see her, and break the news to her of poor Kathleen’s death. But I feel yet as if I can scarcely forgive May. If she wished to leave me she might have done so; not cost me such bitter pain.”
“We will not discuss it.”
“No, it is useless. And now, Mr. Webster, will you kindly excuse me for a few minutes? I will ring for some refreshments for you, and if you really must return by the next train to town, it passes our station at a quarter to six;” and John Temple looked at his watch. “I will go with you, and to-morrow—you will see May?”