Hannah occupied herself a little about the adjoining apartment, until she thought he had dropped off again, and then went softly downstairs again. What was her amazement to be met at the foot by one of her servants, with the intelligence that a gentleman was waiting in the drawing-room to see her.
‘A gentleman!’ she echoed; ‘what is his name, James?’
‘He did not give his name, ma’am. He asked for the master first, but I said I thought he had gone up to bed, and then he said he would wait and see. I think he’s some sort of a priest, if you please, ma’am; at least, he looks like it.’
Some sort of a priest! Hannah’s heart stood still at the words, but she resolved to know what he came for. Perhaps it was Frederick Walcheren himself, and, in that case, she would plead her own cause to him. Without a moment’s delay, she passed down the corridor, and entered the drawing-room. It was Walcheren who stood before her! Altered as he was by his dress, and the terrible experience he had passed through, she recognised him at once. But he seemed rather taken aback at her appearance. He had evidently not expected to see her, and he neither came forward to meet her nor offered his hand. As for Hannah, she stood trembling before him, as if he had been a judge.
‘Mrs Hindes, I believe,’ began Frederick, courteously, ‘but I am sorry they troubled you, madam. It was your husband I came to see. I have a little business with him.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. He has told me,’ replied poor Hannah. ‘We have no secrets from each other, Mr Walcheren, and Henry has related to me the whole account of his seeing you in the confessional and visiting you at your private residence afterwards.’
‘He has told you his motives and what has passed between us?’ said the young man, in astonishment.
‘Everything, sir, and I have known it from the beginning. Oh, Mr Walcheren,’ she went on rapidly, ‘I was going to see you about it. I wanted to plead to you for mercy for my poor children and myself. I have no excuses to make for my unhappy husband. How could I have, when Jenny’—here Hannah’s tears commenced to flow and her utterance became choked with her sobs—‘when she was my very, very dearest friend? No one mourned her loss more than I did, and to think—to think— But my wretched husband has lived in hell since that miserable day. He has never known one happy moment. If any man ever repented a sin, he has done his. Can you not find it in your heart, Mr Walcheren, to show him a little mercy? It would be very noble of you if you would. Henry shall never annoy you by his presence again. We are intending to leave the country, never to return. Only, if you could find it in your heart to spare him—to forgive as you hope to be forgiven—for the sake of his little children, sir—’
She attempted to fall at his feet, but he raised her.
‘Mrs Hindes, you greatly distress me,’ he said. ‘I did not expect, nor wish to see you when I came here to-night. I had but one object in doing so—’