He drew back, looking ghastly, just as there was a soft tap at the dressing room door, and Maria appeared, looking sharply from one to the other.
“I have brought up master’s lunch,” she said. “Shall I bring it in here?”
“No; I will come and see to it first,” said the nurse quickly; and she went into the little room, while Neil walked across to his father’s couch and stood looking down at the worn, thin face as the old man still slept on.
“An insult!” he thought—“the lady to whom I am betrothed!”
He looked round wildly, and a sense of despair that was almost insupportable attacked him as he fully realised his position and the justice of the words which had stung him to the heart.
“But there is something more,” he said to himself, as, with nerves jarred and his feelings lacerated by disappointment, unworthy thoughts now crept in—“there is something more.” And throwing himself into a chair, he sat gazing down at the carpet, recalling bit by bit every look and word of his brother, beginning with the scene upon the staircase on the night of Elisia’s first arrival.
They were thoughts which grew more and more unworthy—thoughts which began to rankle in and venom his nature, as he formed mental pictures of his brother being received with smiles and kindly words.
“I would rather see her dead,” he muttered fiercely; and at that moment the object of his thoughts entered from the dressing room, bearing the little tray with his father’s lunch.
Their eyes met, and as he gazed in the pure, sweet face, the harsh unworthy thoughts passed away, to give place to a sense of misery, hopelessness, and despondency, which humbled him before her to the dust.
“And I dared to think all that!” he said to himself, as he rose and drew back from the couch to give place for her to approach.