"Do you remember this?" he said; and, taking a small parcel from his breast pocket, he opened it, and disclosed Meg's locket. Mr. Deane held out his hand instinctively; he did not like to see that precious relic in Mr. Sauls' possession.
"Yes, it is—I mean it was—mine. I'll give you anything you like for it, Sauls."
"I remembered it too," said George. "Miss Deane once showed it to me. The diamonds are uncommonly fine. I found it at a pawnbroker's at N——. Mrs. Thorpe sold it to him. The old rascal made a good thing out of her, I suspect. He assured me that he saw her cross the road to the 'Pig and Whistle' with the money in her hand, and order a chaise to take her to Lupcombe parsonage."
"To Lupcombe!" said Mr. Deane; he started painfully.
"You didn't know?" said George. "It was not news to me. The gardener told us how a woman had come to the parsonage—it was while Mr. Bagshotte and I were looking at ancient monuments—and begged hard to see you, but was sent away; he said she seemed broken-hearted."
George's even voice—he spoke in as matter-of-fact a tone as if he were commenting on the weather—ceased for a moment. He knew that Mrs. Russelthorpe had turned white even to her lips; but he had no pity for her;—that other woman "broken-hearted" was too present with him.
"How do you know—it was my Meg?" said her father, with a catch of the breath in the middle of his sentence.
"I questioned the gardener again," said George. "When Mrs. Russelthorpe sent her away, the woman said, 'Tell father I know he was right'. Possibly Mrs. Russelthorpe forgot to give you that message?" He put up his eyeglass and looked at her, but she stood perfectly still and straight. An enemy's presence has a finely bracing effect on a woman's nerves; yet, perhaps, at that moment, Meg's wrongs were avenged, even better than the avenger knew.
Mrs. Russelthorpe's love for her brother might be selfish, but at least it was intense; and to lose his was like losing the very life of her soul, for it was the only love she knew. She could not look at Charles, though she felt him look eagerly and questioningly at her, or speak to him, though her silence was an admission. But she met Mr. Sauls' stare with haughty composure; if he must guess she suffered, at least he shouldn't see it.
Mr. Deane put his hand over his eyes; there was a minute's dead silence,—the longest minute that Mrs. Russelthorpe had ever known. Then: "Mr. Sauls, you have made a mistake," he said. "It—it was I who forgot; my memory is getting misty. You must not fancy that my sister did not tell me. Of course, I knew—but, no doubt, you meant well." And, for once in his life, George was taken aback. Then he turned on his heel, with a short laugh.