“You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your brother back again.”
“Overjoyed!” exclaimed Netty, with a shrug. “I’m likely to lose a husband. A disgraced brother is a poor exchange.”
“You don’t mean to say that Harry Bent would be so mean as to withdraw because your brother—”
“Oh, yes, say it—because my brother is a criminal. I don’t pity him, and you’ll find your father less lenient than mine. All thought of an engagement between you and Dick is now, of course, absurd.”
“That is for Dick to decide,” said Dora, quietly. But there was a horrible sinking at her heart, and tears came to her eyes. She walked to the window to hide her emotion from unsympathetic eyes. She almost hated Netty. Everyone seemed to be conspiring to overthrow her idol. They would not give her half a chance of believing him innocent. She positively quaked at the prospect of hearing from Dick’s own lips his version of the story.
When the clergyman came down, he entered with bowed head and haggard face, like a beaten man. He signed to Netty that he wished to be alone with 272 Dora, and, when the girl was gone, went over to his visitor, and laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder.
“My dear Miss Dundas, my son desires to see you, and speak with you alone. He will say—he will tell you things that may make you take a harsh view of—of his parents. I exhort you, in all Christian charity, to suspend your judgment, and be merciful—to us, at least. I am a weak man—weaker than I thought. This is a time of humiliation for us, a time of difficulty, bordering on ruin. Have mercy. That is all I ask.”
Without waiting for a reply, he led the way upstairs. Dora followed with beating heart, conscious of a sense of mystery. At the door of Dick’s room, the rector left her.
“Go in,” he murmured, hoarsely.
“Dora!”