Again Vernon tried to speak: again he failed. With a hasty side glance at his sister-in-law, full of a plaintive, dumb sort of gratitude and entreaty, he crossed the room rapidly, with almost a staggering gait, opened the door with clammy fingers, and hurried out.
Husband and wife, thus left face to face, said not a word, but each gave a strange look of searching inquiry into the face of the other.
“Poor fellow!” said the vicar, gently.
Mrs. Brander did not answer. With a woman’s keener sympathy, she was listening to her brother-in-law’s footsteps in the hall outside. All there was of warmth in her somewhat cool nature was brought to the surface to-night. As she heard the hall door open, she uttered a little cry, and, leaving the room quickly, came up with Vernon before he had got out of the house, and put a warm, loving hand upon his arm.
“Oh, Vernon, Vernon! I wanted to say God bless you too!” she whispered, with tenderness most unwonted in the self-contained woman.
Vernon looked in her face with astonishment. There were tears in her great brown eyes; tears which, if he had seen them a few months ago, would have set his blood and his brain on fire. Now the sight of them filled him with astonishment and gratitude, but left him calm.
“You are too kind, dear,” he said, pressing her hand affectionately in his. “You must not trouble your head so much about me. Indeed there is no need. Good-night, good-night.”
He stooped and kissed her hand very gently, very reverently, and left her, hurrying down the lane without a look behind.
Evelyn Brander stared out into the darkness for some minutes after he had disappeared from her sight. For the first time, perhaps, in all her life she felt a vague sense that there might be something in existence more serious, more interesting than what we should eat, and what we should drink, and wherewithal we should be clothed.
“If I had only known,” she murmured to herself; “if I had only been able to know!”