Lady Belward’s face was in her hands. “Good-bye-grandmother,” he said at the door, and then he was gone.
At the outer door the old housekeeper stepped forward, her gloomy face most agitated.
“Oh, sir, oh, sir, you will come back again? Oh, don’t go like your father!”
He suddenly threw an arm about her shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll come back—yes I’ll come back here—if I can. Good-bye, Hovey.”
In the library Sir William and Lady Belward sat silent for a time. Presently Sir William rose, and walked up and down. He paused at last, and said, in a strange, hesitating voice, his hands chafing each other:
“I forgot myself, my dear. I fear I was violent. I would like to ask his pardon. Ah, yes, yes!”
Then he sat down and took her hand, and held it long in the silence.
“It all feels so empty—so empty,” she said at last, as the tower-clock struck hollow on the air.
The old man could not reply, but he drew her close to him, and Hovey, from the door, saw his tears dropping on her white hair.