“What then?” I asked, trying to be calm, though I stormed within.
“Oh, I looked no further, as I had many papers to prepare,” replied the clerk. “The last I saw was the maid going up the street with Sir George.”
“Did she go willingly?”
“Aye, I thought so. Though now I call to mind that Sir George appeared to talk earnestly to her, pointing this way and that, ere she turned and went with him. Is there any more I can tell you?”
“No,” I said. “I thank you most kindly. I have heard too--too much already. Forgive my hasty words, I pray.”
Then I went out to Kit.
She rubbed her nose against my shoulder as I made ready to leap into the saddle. I wondered if she understood, and if it was the sympathy she could not speak, for it seemed she wanted to tell me she was still true.
Here was more than I had bargained for. Lucille was gone with Sir George, and there could be but one meaning to that. He had met her, having followed her from Salem, and had renewed his advances to her. With light words he had been sorry for the past, had won her forgiveness, and had awakened her old love for him.
Surely this was an end to it all now.
Though I had believed her his wife before, I felt I had her love. Now he had both her love and herself, and I had naught save bitter memories--and my love.