“Good-night,” he replied, with a grave sympathy in his tone; and he stood gazing at the door through which she had passed with the touch of her cold, moist, trembling hand still lingering in his, till the Major spoke again, after walking to the window, and shouting to the dog to lie down.
“Been madness to have gone,” he said. “Why, even in broad daylight the way across the mountain needs care. My poor darling there had that nasty slip some little time ago, and she has not been the same since. You noticed, perhaps, that she looks pale and quite hysterical?”
“I had noticed—I did on my first visit too—that Miss Gurdon looked very pale and ill.”
“Exactly! She gives me a great deal of concern about her health. I shall be obliged to take her up to town for good advice. But come, sit down; I will not trouble you about my cares.”
“It is very late, sir.”
“It is. But only a few minutes, Mr Reed. I wish to say something to you.”
Reed seated himself.
“Only a few words, sir, and I shall begin by asking you to pardon a much older man for his frankness.”
“Pray speak, sir.”
“Well, Mr Reed, I like you, and therefore I say, as a man whose life and hopes were blasted when he was young, and who would see with pain another suffer a defeat, be careful.”