“Yes, Mrs. Monckton, I have been out all day; I have been to Windsor.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes. I met Launcelot Darrell there.”
“You met Launcelot Darrell!” repeated Eleanor. “Richard,” she cried, suddenly, rising as she spoke, and going to where the young man stood, “you have found something more.”
“I have not found what we want, Eleanor. I have not found the proof that you must lay before Mr. de Crespigny, when you ask him to leave his estate away from his nephew. But I think I have made a discovery.”
“What discovery?” asked Mrs. Monckton, with suppressed eagerness. “Do not speak loudly, Dick,” she added, in a whisper, “my husband is in the next room. I sit with him sometimes when he is at work there with his law papers, but I can’t help fancying that my presence annoys him. He is not the same to me that he used to be. Oh, Richard, Richard, I feel as if I was divided from every creature in the world, except you: I can trust you, for you know my secret. When will this end?”
“Very soon, my dear, I hope,” Mr. Thornton answered, gravely. “There was a time when I urged you to abandon your purpose, Eleanor, but I do so no longer. Launcelot Darrell is a bad man, and the poor little girl with the blue eyes and flaxen ringlets must not be suffered to fall into his power.”
“No, no, not for the world. But you have made some discovery to-day, Richard?”
“I think so. You remember what Mr. Monckton told us the other day. You remember his telling us that Mr. de Crespigny had only that day made his will?”
“Yes, I remember it perfectly.”