“Yes, Lama. How could I bear to tell you and give you pain?”
Her voice trembled as she spoke. Despard looked at her with an indescribable expression.
“One thought,” said he, slowly, “and one feeling engrosses all my nature, and even this news that I have heard can not drive it away. Even the thought of my father’s fate, so dark and so mysterious, can not weaken the thoughts that have all my life been supreme. Do you know, little playmate, what those thoughts are?”
She was silent. Despard’s hand wandered over the keys. They always spoke in low tones, which were almost whispers, tones which were inaudible except to each other. And Mrs. Thornton had to bow her head close to his to hear what he said.
“I must go,” said Despard, after a pause, “and visit Brandon again. I do not know what I can do, but my father’s death requires further examination. This man Potts is intermingled with it. My uncle gives dark hints. I must make an examination.”
“And you are going away again?” said Mrs. Thornton, sadly.
Despard sighed.
“Would it not be better,” said he, as he took her hand in his—“would it not be better for you, little playmate, if I went away from you forever?”
She gave him one long look of sad reproach. Then tears filled her eyes.
“This can not go on forever,” she murmured. “It must come to that at last!”