Goodhare’s face turned the ugly grey color to which any strong feeling brought it, and his eyes flashed.
“You are wasting your time waiting for Rees Pennant, Miss Audaer,” he said, coolly; “he has other aims in view. In fact, perhaps I may say you have seen the last of him. If he does ever see you again, however, don’t be surprised if he makes you proposals less honorable than those you have so very prettily rejected to-day.”
Deborah broke away from him with an exclamation of disgust, and ran home as fast as she could, humiliated beyond expression by the man’s offensive words and manner. She could not quite, try as hard as she might, dismiss some of his words about Rees as idle ones. The young fellow had gone out very early that morning, and had not yet returned, although it was past dinner-time. Tea-time passed, and still he did not come.
Then, overpowered by a dreadful presentiment, Deborah crept upstairs to the open door of his room, and finding it empty, went in. On the dressing-table was a note directed hastily in pencil to his mother. She carried it with a heavy heart to Mrs. Pennant.
It was as follows:—
“My dearest old mother,
“I am off; gone, not for long, but still gone. I have got a situation in London, and shall send you money every week, and come and see you very soon, be sure. I couldn’t bear to say good-bye.—With all love, your ever affectionate son,
“Rees.”
Mrs. Pennant burst into tears.
“My brave, darling boy,” she said, not willing to own she was hurt at this leave-taking, “he was quite right, as he always is. I could not have borne his going.”
Deborah did not answer. A great fear blanched her cheeks. Goodhare had had money left him, and Rees had gone. After the words the librarian had used, she could not fail to connect the two facts. Was it in Goodhare’s service that Rees was to be employed?
If so, the one being evil and the other weak, what power could save the man she loved from ruin?