So he turned back and walked with him into the garden and along by the sea wall, instead of across the causeway and to the house. This was the doing of the Père Anselme, for he felt now might be his time.
Henry had been growing more and more troubled while he had been out by himself. He could not disguise the fact that there was some great change in Sabine, and now his anxious mood craved sympathy and counsel from this her great friend.
"Madame Howard does not look quite well, Father," he remarked, after they had pulled some modern philosophies to pieces, and there had been a pause. "She is so nervous—what is the cause of it, do you know? Perhaps this place does not suit her in the winter. It is so very cold."
"Yes, it is cold—but that is not the reason." And the Père Anselme drew closer his old black cloak. "There are other and stronger causes for the state in which we find the Dame Sabine."
Henry peered into his face anxiously in the gray light—it was four o'clock, the day would soon be gone. He knew that these words contained ominous meaning, and his voice was rather unsteady as he asked:
"What are the reasons, Father? Please tell me if you are at liberty to do so. To me the welfare of this dear lady is all that matters in life."
The Curé of Héronac cleared his throat, and then he said gently:
"I spoke once before to you about the cinders and as to whether or no they were still red. That is what causes her to be restless—she has found that they are yet alight."
Lord Fordyce was a brave man, but he grew very pale. It seemed that suddenly all the fears which his heart had sheltered, though would not own as facts, were rising before him like giant skeletons, concrete and distinct.
"But the divorce is going well!" he exclaimed a little passionately, his hurt was so great. "She told me so last night; she will be free some time in January, and will then be my wife."