"I have pity, more than pity for you, Jess," he whispered. "Don't think——" He caught his breath to check the quiver in his voice, and so remembered. "I beg your pardon—Mrs. Eustace I should have said," he added as he drew back.
With hands close clenched behind him he stood. The love he fancied he had stifled had burst through the restraint he had placed upon it; the injury she had inflicted upon him, the wrong she had done, the cause for resentment she had given him were alike forgotten. The lingering suspicion alone prevented him from taking her in his arms to soothe and comfort her in her distress. Fighting against himself he stood silent, and the woman, aching for someone on whom to lean, shivered.
"What am I to do?" she moaned. "What am I to do?"
He, thinking only of her, took the words to refer to her present difficulty.
"I think it would be better if you went away," he said gently. "I do not think it will be easier for you to bear if you are here when—should anything else come to light."
"You mean if—if he is arrested?"
"Yes."
She lifted up her head and turned a tear-stained face towards him.
"Have they found him? Have they? Is that why—why I am asked to leave the house?"
"No, Mrs. Eustace. A new manager will be appointed, and the house is wanted for him."