“My poor girl,” he said kindly, “it would be affectation to pretend that I did not know your troubles, but pray be calm. Let me send some one with you home.”
“You pitiful coward!” she said again, and there was an intensity of scorn in her words that thrilled him through; “do you think if I had known you as I know you now that I would have kept your wretched secret?”
“Miss Mullion—”
“Have let insult, misery, and injury fall upon others’ heads, till I have been heart-broken over their sorrows, and yet in faith to you I would not speak. But it is over now. Mr Trethick knows the truth. To-night Rhoda Penwynn will know the truth. I came to you now more in sorrow than anger, believing that when you saw me, even if the report was true, that the sight of my poor thin face, and what you could read there of my sufferings, would move you to some show of pity for your miserable victim; but instead—Oh, God of heaven!” she exclaimed passionately, “how could I ever love this man?”
“Is any thing the matter, sir?” said Mr Chynoweth, opening the door. “Did you call?”
“No. Yes, Mr Chynoweth,” exclaimed Tregenna, excitedly. “This poor girl. She ought not to be away from home alone. I don’t think,”—(he touched his forehead).
“That I am in my senses, Mr Chynoweth,” said Madge sharply, as she drew down her veil; “but I am. John Tregenna, I shall keep my word.”
She went slowly out of the inner room and across the office, Chynoweth hastening after her to open the door, John Tregenna coming close behind, as if to see that Madge did not speak again; but she went away without a word.
“Poor creature!” exclaimed Tregenna. “I suppose I must not heed a word she said. Of course you did not hear, Mr Chynoweth?”
“No, sir, not a word hardly; only when she spoke very loud.”