“Come up to town at once. Father has had a stroke of paralysis. Shall expect you by the seven o’clock train.”
“What is it?” said Mrs. Quest, noting the alarm on his face.
“Why, my father is very ill. He has had a stroke of paralysis, and I must go to town by the next train.”
“Shall you be long away?”
“I do not know. How can I tell? Good-bye, Belle. I am sorry that we should have had this scene just as I am going, but I can’t help it.”
“Oh, Edward,” she said, catching him by the arm and turning her tear-stained face up towards his own, “you are not angry with me, are you? Do not let us part in anger. How can I help being jealous when I love you so? Tell me that you do not hate me—or I shall be wretched all the time that you are away.”
“No, no, of course not—but I must say, I wish that you would not make such shocking scenes—good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she answered as she gave him her shaking hand. “Good-bye, my dear. If only you knew what I feel here,” she pointed to her breast, “you would make excuses for me.” Almost before she had finished her sentence he was gone. She stood near the door, listening to his retreating footsteps till they had quite died away, and then flung herself in the chair and rested her head upon her hands. “I shall lose him,” she said to herself in the bitterness of her heart. “I know I shall. What chance have I against her? He already cares for Ida a great deal more than he does for me, in the end he will break from me and marry her. Oh, I had rather see him dead—and myself too.”
Half-an-hour later, Mr. Quest came in.
“Where is Cossey?” he asked.