“It does, my lady,” said Bales.
“I will see you before you go, if you please, at nine in the morning,” said the Countess.
“So early!” exclaimed the Earl.
The Countess smiled and nodded assent.
“One cannot rise too early to help a poor creature in trouble, Mr. Phillips,” said the Countess, aside; adding, “and now, Phœbe, I think we may retire.”
Phœbe took her ladyship’s proffered arm; Lionel Hammerton opened the door, and the two women went up-stairs to sit and talk of the past and the present, and the time to come; to have one of those long confiding gossips which are so charming to newly-married friends. But there was a gloomy shadow now and then which seemed to lay an icy finger upon their warm and tender words—the shadow of the dead man, Amy’s half-brother—who lay in that darkened room above.
The gentlemen, when they were alone, adjourned, upon Earl Verner’s invitation, to the billiard-room, not for the purpose of playing at the fascinating game of billiards, but to smoke and talk and drink spirits and hot water before they went to bed.
Lord Verner had heard in town that if Tallant had lived two more days, he would only have lived to be a disgraced and ruined man. His shares in the Meter Works had been sent into the market and sold, a heap of bills had been dishonoured, and he was involved to the last degree.
“I have a shrewd guess that he came down here to see if he could get money from his sister; knowing her generous disposition, I do not doubt that he came here as a forlorn hope. My solicitor said the opinion in town was that he had committed suicide.”
“I am anxious to see his servants,” said Mr. Bales. “I think his butler will be able to give some strong testimony against this man Gibbs.”