"He asked for you," persisted Brompton, seeing that I did not rise. "He is in the same room he had when they were here together. He mistrusted something, or he had heard something; he said no word until he was there. Then he asked me what he had got to be told, and I told him."
I made a sign that I would go. Brompton left me with a look which showed that he knew what a part I had before me.
Dr. Borrow was not a patient man. He was ruffled by a slight contrariety. This unimagined grief, how was it to be borne? With what words would he receive me? Would he even spare Harry Dudley himself, in the reproaches which his love would only make more bitter?
We three were to have met to-day. Was he the one to be wanting? he who was never wanting? He who had been the life, the joy, of those dearly remembered hours, was he to be the sorrow, the burden of these? I went to him again; again earth and its anxieties vanished from me. No, he would not be wanting to us.
When I touched the handle of the door, it was turned from the inside. Dr. Borrow seized my hand, clasping it, not in greeting, but like one who clings for succor. He searched my face with ardently questioning look, as if I might have brought him mercy or reprieve. He saw that I had not. A spasm passed over his face. His mouth opened to speak, with voiceless effort. He motioned me to lead where he was to go. We went down-stairs, and he followed me, as I had followed Brompton, along the entry, across the yard, through the barn. He glanced towards the tree and then took his way to the shed. I did not enter with him.
When he came back to me, he was very pale, but his expression was soft and tender as I had never known it. We went in again together, and stood there side by side.
Brompton spoke from without. "There is one thing I have not told you, Dr. Borrow."
The Doctor turned to him patiently.