That evening he was a free man, and was holding, dazed and trembling as with palsy, on one side the hand of Sir Henry Millard, on the other that of his daughter Ella.
CHAPTER XXX.
George had not known until this meeting with his old friends how much ill-health and confinement had pulled him down. He scarcely dared to look at Ella, for there came a lump in his throat whenever his eyes fell on her brave, steadfast face. Sir Henry’s presence was a great relief to them both. The baronet’s comments on the situation was so inapposite, and he had such a strong sense that he was rendered ridiculous by this journey to France to chaperon his daughter in her efforts on behalf of another woman’s husband, that he gave them something to laugh at when they were only too ready to cry. Ella was as practical as ever.
“What are you going to do?” asked she, drawing George aside with her usual brusquerie when the first greetings were over.
“I am going to find Nouna,” said he. “She has been here, and she went away ill a fortnight ago; I have found that out, and that her black servant Sundran was with her. I must start to-night.”
“You are too ill for the journey.”
“I am too ill to stay here. I have some work to do in England besides.”
“What work?”
He did not answer, and there was a pause, during which she considered him attentively.
“George,” she said at last in a low voice, “you are changed. You have lost the ‘good’ look you used to have. The work you speak of is something unworthy of you.”