“There—there! let us have none of this fencing,” cried Harry, angrily—“afraid to tell me. Where is he? Has he taken her abroad? Look here! I do not want to go to her home, for they must be in trouble.”
Janet burst into a mocking laugh; but Harry went on without heeding it—
“He has a father, and the old man is in despair. He fears that mischief has befallen him. We know that he is young and foolish, and that he has been here often to meet her.”
“I do not understand you—what do you mean?” said Janet, coldly, though it was evident that she was greatly moved.
Harry saw it, and never for a moment relaxing his gaze, went on—
“If they have gone away together, at least let me know for certain that he is safe—that we may expect to hear from him again soon; and I will not press you further than for information that will prove to me the truth. I speak plainly, for this is a most painful case.”
Harry paused, astonished at the change which had come over Janet, who, as the meaning of his words dawned upon her to their full extent, started back, and with one hand tore hastily at her throat, as if to check the strangling sensation that would arise. Then as she leaned towards him, as if fascinated by his eye, she gasped forth—
“Do you mean—do you mean?” she cried, hoarsely repeating her words, as her face assumed a livid aspect.
“Yes, yes; you know whom I mean—Mr Redgrave—”
“Mr Redgrave!” she said, hastily.