He spoke as if he found a difficulty in finding a term by which to speak of Otho.
‘No, I do not; but your—Mr. Langstroth knows all about him. He gave me his address at Christmas, and I have kept it. It is through him we shall have to send.... It is now clear to me why Otho would not give his address to Magdalen.’
‘I see. The thing is, suppose he does not choose to answer the summons—your brother, I mean. You say she said she had written to him?’
‘A hundred times, she said, and received no answer.’
‘That looks very much as if he had chosen to desert her entirely, and did not intend to notice any demand. I fear he will not come if we send for him.’
‘I do not know that. I think he may. I have an idea in my mind. I will tell you why I have it, afterwards. Since you told me what his besetting sin was, I have watched him carefully. He does what he feels inclined to do, and leaves the results to chance. I have seen it in a thousand things, great and small. I can tell no reason why he should have committed this crime—his heart is black—I do not understand such things. But I believe that when last he saw the girl, he did not know of this, and that he was tired of the caprice, and afraid that her letters might tell him of some such thing; so he has never read them, but trusted to his god, chance, that they did not tell him what he did not want to hear. I saw him burn a thing one day, without opening it. Your brother asked him why he did that, when he knew it was a bill he would have to pay. He said he knew nothing till he had read it.’
She also told him of the episode she had seen between Otho and the young woman who had been singing.
‘The expression on his face was fear,’ she went on, as coolly as she could. ‘I did not understand it then. Now I do. It was dusk. He could not see the figure properly; he feared to meet Ada; he thought for a moment that it was Ada, come to accuse him of his sin. All the time he was here he must have been haunted by the fear that she might confront him. His questions to us about her, were for a blind; and I think he wanted to get some news of her, without seeming to seek it. As we told him nothing, he chose to behave as if there were nothing to tell. This has all come into my mind since I have seen Ada. Perhaps I am wrong; but if I am right—and I believe I am, and we send a message to Mr. Gilbert Langstroth, Otho will know what it means, and will come.’
‘Could Gilbert have known?’
‘No, no, no!’ she exclaimed, vehemently. ‘I will stake my life on it that he did not.’