"What, Sidney! you are here—and alone!"
"Alone!" he repeated; "who did you expect to find with me, George?" he asked irritably.
It was the last word that struck him, and over-balanced the astonishment he felt at hearing his cousin's voice. George Martin shrugged his shoulders.
"Come out of this church," he said, in a voice toned down to quietness, "and I'll tell you straight. I never could manage anything, you know; there's no diplomacy in me, and so I told Uncle John. Come; I can't talk about it here."
They went out into the open air, and strolled down to the river in silence. George Martin was in no hurry to tell his message, and Sidney shrank from receiving it. He had often dreaded that some rumor might reach his uncle; for Sophy had not been prudent enough in effacing herself on their travels. So the two young men stood on the bridge, gazing down at the rapid rushing of the waters below them, and for some time neither of them spoke a word.
"Old fellow," said George at last, laying his hand affectionately on Sidney's shoulder, "I'm so glad to see you alone. There isn't anybody at the hotel, is there?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sidney with a parched throat.
"Anyone you would be ashamed of, you know," he continued. "Uncle John heard somehow there was a girl traveling about with you—I don't like to say it, Sid—and he sent me off at a moment's notice after you. There, now the murder's out! Uncle John said, 'Don't be bluff and outspoken; but find out quietly.' But I never could be diplomatic. You are alone, Sidney, aren't you?"
"Quite alone," answered Sidney, looking frankly and steadily into his cousin's face. There was always a winning straightforwardness and clearness in his gray eyes, as if the soul of honor dwelt behind them, which went right to the hearts of those who met their gaze; and George Martin's clouded face brightened at once.
"I'm so glad, so thankful, old fellow!" he exclaimed. "I don't mind now telling you, uncle was in an awful rage, swore he would disinherit you, and cut you off without even a shilling, you know; and sent me to find you out, because I was to be the heir in your place, if it was true. Perhaps he thought that would make me keen to find it true. But oh, how thankful I am to find it false? We are more like brothers than cousins, Sidney; and I'd rather lose a dozen fortunes that lose you."