"But if you----"
Herne waved his hand and interrupted Mexton.
"I can't waste any more time discussing the matter," he said, retreating. "I'll see you again when I have proofs to hang Lovel." After which speech he walked rapidly away, without the courtesy of an adieu.
"Mad!" said Paul to himself, and resumed his interrupted journey towards Poverty Villa. In his own heart the young man believed that Herne was insane; his fanaticism in religion was a proof of an ill-balanced mind; and now this furious hatred of Lovel--just enough, in the face of Lovel's attentions to Milly in wilful disregard of the engagement with Herne--threatened to rob him of all his self-control. Failing to fasten the crime on Lovel, and it seemed impossible to do so, Herne was quite capable of shooting the man in a fit of rage. Knowing that Chaskin had most influence over Darcy, the journalist determined to put him on his guard relative to the squire's hatred of Lovel. But this warning word need not be spoken immediately; and in the meantime Paul was anxious to see Iris.
The door of Poverty Villa was wide open; and the untidy house in its neglected garden looked more desolate than ever. Lester was on his way to Marborough gaol; Milly was lying in her coffin at The Herne Arms; and Eliza had not yet returned. Therefore Paul knew that Iris was alone in the house with a heavy burden of grief to bear. Slipping lightly into the passage, he glanced through the open door of the dining-room, but she was not there. The drawing-room was also empty; so as a last resource he softly opened the door of the consulting-room, and beheld the poor girl seated at the desk with her head bowed on her folded arms. Sobs were shaking her frame, and she looked as though the sorrows of the past week were crushing her to the earth.
"Iris," he said softly, "my poor girl."
With an exclamation she lifted her head, and on seeing Paul rose to her feet hastily, brushing away the tears from her face. Then, with a little gasp, she moved forward with outstretched hands, to greet the only friend who remained to her in the desolation of her life.
"Paul," she said with relief, "oh, my dear, I am glad to see you!"
He led her to a seat, and, taking a chair beside her, pressed her hand warmly. "My dear Iris," said he, "at such a time you need the services of your best friend. Let me be that friend."
"Thank you, Paul," she said faintly. "Oh, this horrible tragedy! Shall I ever get it out of my head?"