“Claude!” whispered Mary, as the door was thrown open, and Glyddyr strode in.
“Here, Claude, where are you? Why don’t you have more lights? Oh, there you are, and our little cousin, eh? Now, woman, you can go.”
Sarah Woodham gave her mistress one wild, pitying look, and then left the room.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Glyddyr, whose face was flushed, but his gait was steady, and there was an insolent smile upon his lips. “Only been obliged to entertain my best man,” he said, with a laugh; and he gave his head a shake, and suddenly stretched out a hand to steady himself. “But kept myself all right.”
It was plain to Mary that the man had been drinking heavily, and her spirit rose with indignation and horror, mingled with excitement at her cousin’s avowal.
“Mary, don’t leave me,” whispered Claude.
“Now, then, little one, you go and talk to the other fellows; I want to have a chat with my wife.”
He laughed in a low, chuckling way, for he had long ago mastered Gellow’s opposition, and been told to drink himself blind if he liked. And he had drunk till his miserable feeling of abject dread had been conquered for the moment, while, inured as he was to the use of brandy, he only seemed to be unsteady at times.
“Do you hear?” he said sharply. “Why don’t you go?”
“Claude, dearest, what shall I do?” whispered Mary.