Even if Chatterton had still been at the office Bryda might have gained some news. She wondered if the story of the fray had reached Bristol, for birds of the air do carry a matter even from the loneliness of the upward path to the table-land of the Mendips. But the day dragged wearily on to evening, and still no news. Mrs Lambert was very fractious and fault-finding, and complained that a hole in a bit of lace had been so ill mended that she must have every thread unpicked. Then the water for the tea was smoked, and the 'muffin' too much buttered, with a dozen more grievances of a like character, which were simple torture to poor Bryda's heavy, anxious heart.
Just as the twilight of the spring evening was deepening, and Mrs Lambert ordered Bryda to fetch the candles and lay the cloth for supper, a very gentle ring at the bell was heard—so gentle this time that it did not attract Mrs Lambert's attention, and Bryda was in the hall before Sam had time to appear.
As he opened the door Bryda heard a voice she knew to be Chatterton's.
'I must see Miss Palmer,' he said. 'Let me in, you little fool.'
Sam made a grimace and said,—
'You ain't wanted here. They say you are a bad 'un—so be off.'
'Let me speak to Mr Chatterton,' she said; and in another moment she was standing on the doorstep with him.
'I have brought you a message, Miss Palmer. I saw Jack Henderson aboard ship for America last night. He bid me say you need never trouble about him again, but that, wherever he goes, he will hold you in remembrance. Poor fellow! he seemed in frightful misery about killing the man; but if, as he says, in fair fight, there is nothing so extraordinary in it—it happens every day—only last week, in Bath, a man was killed in a duel.'
'But it is dreadful—dreadful!' Bryda exclaimed, 'because it is all my fault. And Jack gone—do you say quite gone?'