‘Ah! that’s because of this trouble about poor Jenny; it has regularly upset us all. Shall you go over and see the Cramptons to-night, Harry?’
‘No, no, I couldn’t. I have had enough bother already,’ replied Hindes, shrinking from the idea.
‘Of course, and perhaps they will not expect it; but you must write to them, for they will be anxiously expecting to hear some news of your journey.’
‘So they will,’ he answered, as if the idea had only just struck him; ‘well, I will not write, I will go,’ and he rose to get his hat and stick, then suddenly turning to Hannah, he added,—‘it’s a fine night, will you go with me?’
She looked surprised at the request, but answered readily,—
‘With pleasure, dear, if you will wait whilst I put on my hat and mantle.’
The brief walk to ‘The Cedars’ was accomplished in silence, but, as they reached the house, Hindes said to his wife,—
‘Don’t repeat anything I told you; leave me to tell my own story, I want to save them as much pain as possible.’
They found the three old people sitting together and looking very forlorn. Mr Crampton had recovered his temper of the morning, and was seated in an arm-chair, huddled up behind his newspaper, and professed to take no interest in the conversation that ensued. The two women flew at Henry Hindes as soon as he appeared.
‘Oh, dear Mr Hindes! did you see her? What news do you bring us? Do not keep us in suspense; we implore you! Is she well? What did she say?’