Then he threw himself into his chair, and sat leaning forward with his fingers seeming to be driven into the soft padding of the arms, which he clutched with fierce vehemence.
But by degrees the gust of passion passed over, leaving him calm and cool as, once more rising, he smoothed his countenance, and went out of the room in search of Cyril.
He was not in the dining-room, nor yet in the little room where he was in the habit of sitting to read and smoke, while the state of the garden was not such as to induce him to wander there.
The Rector went up softly to his son’s room, but without finding him; and at last he went into the dining-room and rang the bell.
“Where is Mr Cyril?” the Rector asked.
“He went out about half-an-hour ago, sir.”
“With Mr Frank?”
“No, sir; Mr Frank went out before that.”
“Did he say what time he would be back?”
“No, sir; but Williams came in just now, sir, with Lord Artingale’s mare for Miss Cynthia.”