“My dear, remember that he had to take the first train west to fly to his mother’s sick bed. He had to hurry on. He really had no alternative, Roma. Yet, I will not deceive you. He told me that under no circumstances should he dare to present himself before Miss Fronde,” said the lawyer.
“Ah, heaven! Oh, my dear guardian, what can be this hidden horror that parts my friend from me?” demanded Miss Fronde, with a profound sigh.
“It is no secret to me, I think, my dear. It is, of course, his complicity in the matter of that fraudulent marriage.”
“No! no! no! no!” indignantly exclaimed the lady. “It is some mental disturbance, superinduced upon his brain fever, and of which Hanson, the fiend, took advantage.”
“I fear that it is something more serious than mental disturbance which we have hitherto supposed to be the cause of his strange conduct. Since my interview with him this afternoon I have been under the impression that he is suffering from some deep remorse.”
“Remorse!—Will Harcourt!” Roma fairly gasped for breath in her astonishment.
“He said that in a few days we should know all—or words to that effect.”
Roma sighed deeply.
“But to change the subject, my dear, what are you going to do with the child, now that you have so much upon your hands?” inquired the lawyer, to divert the lady’s mind from the sorrowful mystery of William Harcourt.
“I shall keep her with me, wherever I may be; take her with me, wherever I may go. She will be no hindrance.”