A sudden passion of tears here came to her relief. Her bosom heaved and her whole form was convulsed, and John Temple naturally felt exceedingly disconcerted. He tried to say some consoling words; he endeavored to take one of her trembling hands. But the sound of her sobs soon attracted the attention of someone within the bedroom from which she had come out. A respectable maid appeared and endeavored to persuade her to return.
“Oh, madam! do not give way so,” she said; “I was sure it was a pity you should see—this gentleman so soon. But she would see you, sir,” she added, looking at John Temple.
“If my presence distresses you,” said John, courteously, looking pityingly at the weeping woman, “I shall leave the Hall at once.”
“What matter is it, what matter is it!” moaned Mrs. Temple; “nothing matters to me now!”
With this she turned away and went back into the bedroom, and the maid hastily closed the door after her, and John saw her no more. But the incident affected him; her grief was evidently so deep and heartrending; her bitter words to him only the natural outpouring of her troubled heart.
“Poor woman,” thought John, and he said nothing to his uncle of this meeting when they dined together in the evening.
The squire again spoke to John of the property and his tenants.
“I have improved some of the farm holdings very much during the last few years,” he said; “at Woodside Farm especially the whole of the outbuildings have been renewed.”
“Ah,” said John, interested, “at Woodside Farm?”