“Eh?” he said, recalling himself with a start. “Oh no! Did you not know Bernard has gone off to do what he can for you? Ay, so it is. He set off last night; could not be kicking his heels in Brighton with his cousins under the hatches, as we say. Ah, my dear, if you knew the depth of my boy’s regard for you—but I do not mean to tease you, I am sure, and this is no time to be talking of bridals.”
They had reached the carriage by this time, and he climbed into it, groaning a little. Miss Taverner was resolute in declining his offer to convey her to her door, but she could not believe his sympathy to be quite hypocritical, and took leave of him with more kindness than she would have thought it possible to feel for him.
Monday brought her a letter from Sir Geoffrey Fairford. He wrote from Reddish’s hotel, in St. James’s Street. He had seen Worth, and although he was not able to give her any news of Peregrine, he was confident that a very few days must put them in possession of all the facts. He wrote in haste, and meant to carry his letter to the Post Office, that there might be no delay in its despatch. He could only counsel her not to lose hope, and assure her that her guardian was doing all that lay in his power to bring about a happy issue.
With this brief note she had to be satisfied. Her dependence was now on Captain Audley’s promise to escort her to London. Every day spent in wretched suspense at Brighton was harder to bear than the last. Mrs. Scattergood’s attempts to keep up her spirits, alternating as they did with fits of the gloomiest foreboding, could only make matters worse. She so obviously gave Peregrine up for lost, that Judith could not feel her company to be any support; and since at the end of three days she was unable to sleep without the assistance of drops of laudanum, and spent the greater part of her time on a couch, with a bottle of smelling salts in one hand, and a damp handkerchief in the other, the only advantage of her presence was that she gave Judith something to do in looking after her.
No tidings came from Worth. Judith believed him to be in London, but even Captain Audley could give her no certain intelligence on this point.
On Wednesday morning, more from an inability to be still than from any real expectation of finding a letter from her guardian, Miss Taverner put on a street dress, and a hat, and went out to call at the Post Office. But the night-mail had brought no letter for her, and it was with a heavy heart that she walked back to Marine Parade. She was within sight of her house when she suddenly heard her name called, and turned quickly round to see her cousin jumping down from a light travelling carriage which had drawn up behind her.
She hurried to meet him, her countenance expressing all the eagerness she felt on beholding him. “Cousin! Oh, have you discovered something? Tell me, tell me!”
He grasped the hands which she held out to him, and said in a repressed voice: “I was on my way to your house. But this is better still. I believe—I trust—that I have discovered something.”
His face, which was very pale, led her to suppose that his news must be bad. Her own cheeks grew white; she just found strength to utter: “What is it? Oh, do not keep me in suspense! I can bear anything but that!”
“I think I have found him,” he said with an effort.