Lady Davyntry went on: "You mustn't worry about this business, Fitz; it is not like you to bother so about any mere matter of money."
"It is more than a mere matter of money, Nelly," said Mr. Baldwin hastily. "But there, don't let us talk of it any more.--You will get ready to start on Wednesday, Margaret; and, please God, we shall all be here together again before long."
He left the women together, and went away, pleading letters to be written for the mail in the morning. As he closed the door, Margaret's quick ear caught the sound of a heavy sigh. In her turn she thought what Eleanor had said, "It is not like him to think so much of a mere matter of money;" for his explanation had not made it clear to her that anything more than money was concerned.
Her sister-in-law talked on and on to her, growing more excited by and better pleased with the occurrences of the day as she did so, until she finally persuaded herself that no real harm, or even permanent unpleasantness, could come out of them to her brother. Margaret hardly heard her. Her heart was heavy and troubled; and that night, as she and her husband stood by the bed where their child was sleeping, watching the infant's happy slumber, as was their invariable custom, she gathered confirmation of her shapeless misgiving from the expression of his face, from the infinite tenderness of his tone to her, and the deep melancholy of the look he turned upon the child.
"Is there a shadow, a dread, a skeleton in his past too?" Margaret mused, when she was alone; "and am I about to find it out? I thought there was nothing in all his noble history which needed an hour's concealment, or could bring a cloud to his face. But I must, as surely I can, trust him. If there be more to tell than he has told,--and I think there must be, for what is a money risk to him and me?--it is my part to wait patiently until the time comes for me to know it. When he thinks it right, he will tell me; until then I ought to be satisfied, and I will. He said the chief part of his business would be in London; I shall hear all about it there."
Calling to her aid her former habit of self-control,--a little fallen into disuse in the new and perfect happiness of her life, in which it was seldom needed,--Margaret did not embarrass Mr. Baldwin by a question, by the slightest betrayal that she suspected any concealment on his part; but she said to herself very frequently, in the brief interval before the commencement of their journey, "I shall learn the truth in London."
The old presentiment which had once haunted her so constantly, which had been so readily awakened by the merest chimerical cause, of which she had felt guilty, ashamed, combating its influence by reasoning upon its ingratitude, its weakness, its unworthiness, had left her, it seemed, at this time. No shadow from the brooding wings of the terrific truth swept across her soul.
The journey was commenced at the appointed time, and safely accomplished, with as much celerity as was possible nearly thirty years ago.
On their arrival in London, the travellers went to a hotel in Bond-street, and Margaret, much tired by the journey, fell almost immediately into a sound sleep. They had reached London at noon, and it was quite dark when she awoke. The glimmering firelight showed her Mr. Baldwin's figure seated beside her bed, and she awoke to the consciousness that he was looking at her with terrible intentness.
"Are you quite rested, my darling?" he said.