Lord Alfred paused for a moment in thought ere he replied.
“I think I can divine Mrs. Coverdale’s reason for not showing my letter to you, and if so, it is one that does her credit; but it is enough for me to know that she does not wish its contents revealed, to make me feel that, as a man of honour, I am bound to be silent. Believe me, Coverdale, I do not say this to annoy you, or to set you at defiance. I would gladly tell you, if I did not think it would be dishonourable and wrong to do so. I wish to heaven I had never written the letter now, since it has produced all this annoyance; but I really did it for the best—I did, upon my honour!”
He spoke with such an air of truthfulness, and his manner was so simple and ingenuous, that Coverdale felt it impossible to doubt his veracity; and for a moment he was on the point of flinging his suspicions to the winds, and, shaking hands with Lord Alfred, to tell him everything was forgotten and forgiven. But Harry’s mind was of that order which is slow to receive a feeling so foreign to its general tone as suspicion, and which, when the idea has once become fixed, finds equal difficulty in relinquishing it. Thus, in the present case, having convinced himself that the only satisfactory way of clearing up his doubts would be by gaining oral or ocular acquaintance with the contents of the mysterious letter, he could in no way divest himself of the conviction, but was continually looking out for reasons in its favour. Instead, therefore, of yielding to his first impulse, he reflected that having refused to put faith in Alice’s unsupported assertion, he should equally be unjust to her, and untrue to his own convictions, if he gave credence to that of Lord Alfred Courtland. So, taking up his hat, he said—
“Since you persist in your refusal, I must go and think this matter over coolly and quietly; you shall see or hear from me before this time to-morrow.” He turned to depart, but Lord Alfred held out his hand:—
“We part as friends?” he said, inquiringly.
“Neither as friends nor foes,” was the reply. “You shall learn my decision to-morrow.” And rejecting his proffered hand, Coverdale quitted the apartment.
CHAPTER LII.—A GLEAM OF LIGHT.
No alarming amount of imagination will be required to enable the reader to conceive that Harry returned to his hotel considerably provoked and dissatisfied at the result of his interview with Lord Alfred Courtland. He had encountered opposition where he had expected an easy victory; where he had felt certain of success, he had failed most signally; and by no means the least embarrassing part of the matter was, that he really did not know whether to be most angry, or pleased, with Lord Alfred, for his unexpected firmness. But, if the past was perplexing, the future appeared much more so. On quitting Lord Alfred, he had called at Horace D’Almayne’s lodgings, where he acquired the information that their usual occupant had started for the continent on the previous evening. Baffled in every attempt to obtain information concerning the mysterious letter, which haunted his imagination with the pertinacity of some intrusive spectre callous to the restringent influence of bell, book, and candle, Coverdale, after lying awake the greater part of the night, bent his steps, the first thing the next morning, in the direction of his brother-in-law’s chambers, wishing to consult him, but at the same time feeling so unwilling to blame Alice, even by imputation, that the chances were against his taking such a step. On reaching his destination, however, the difficulty solved itself, for, early as was the hour, Arthur was from home, but Coverdale found a letter awaiting him in Alice’s hand writing. Hastily tearing it open, an enclosure dropped from it, and on stooping to pick it up he perceived, to his extreme surprise, that it was the identical epistle which had already caused him a journey to London and a sleepless night; and which, but for his forbearance and kindliness of disposition, might have involved him in a serious quarrel—if nothing worse—with his former friend and school-fellow. Alice’s letter, which bore every mark of having been written under feelings of the greatest excitement, ran as follows:—