“Thank you,” said Madelaine calmly, and she quietly left the room.
“Any one might think that she did not feel it,” said the doctor slowly; “but I know better than that. It’s wonderful what a woman will suffer without making a sign. I cannot telegraph till eight o’clock, but I may as well write my message,” he muttered, as he went down-stairs. “Humph! the news is spreading. Somebody come.”
Chapter Twenty One.
Harry Looks the Fact in the Face.
Harry Vane checked his headlong pace as soon as he was out of the lane, and walked swiftly along by the harbour till he reached the sea. Here, in the shelter of a rock, he stooped down and lit a cigar, before throwing himself on a patch of shingle, and holding his temples with his hands, as he tried to quell the tumult in his brain and to think calmly.
But it was in vain. He felt half mad, and as if the best way out of his difficulty was to go and leap into the sea.
“Curse Pradelle!” he groaned. “I wish I had never seen him—coward, thief, cheat! Oh, what am I talking about? Why didn’t I face it, and tell Van Heldre the honest truth? I was innocent. No, no; I was as bad as Pradelle, and he shall disgorge. Every penny shall go back. If he says no, come what may, I’ll out with the whole truth.”
“I couldn’t help it,” he groaned after a pause. “I’d give anything to have frankly told the truth.”