Wellfield passed his hand over his eyes: he was almost stunned. At that moment things stood out clearly, and, so it seemed to him, the right bearings of them. To think of ever marrying Sara now was hopeless. Love must be cast aside, and duty embraced instead. He was perhaps not conscious that he was elaborately and ingeniously evading and concealing the truth, when he said:
‘But for feeling sure that I should displease you exceedingly, and that it would be an ill return for your benefits, for a penniless fellow like myself to speak to her, I should have proposed to her to-night.’
Mr. Bolton’s face brightened.
‘Ah!’ he said, ‘I knew there was a liking on both sides. That makes it smooth. Propose to her to-morrow morning, instead of to-night. You will have her to yourself, for I shall be in town.’
They shook hands, but Wellfield’s eyes did not meet those of Mr. Bolton as he went through the ceremony. He went away. Then it was upon that proud head of Sara Ford that the stroke was to fall, and he was the miserable wretch whose hand was to deal it.
CHAPTER III.
CONSEQUENCES.
Wellfield, at last left alone to ponder upon his position, felt himself in thoroughly evil case. Once or twice a wonder crossed his mind as to whether there were yet time to turn back, retrace his steps along this dire and darksome path; fight his way back to the light, and to Sara Ford; confess everything, and put himself and his fate in her hands. He had a longing to do it, but when he reflected what that course involved, he had not the courage. It was to lose every assured present advantage for a problematical one; for he could not–at least he said so to himself–be sure that Sara would forgive; and if she did not——