At the close of the three hours, Mr. Burton came into the little dwelling, carrying Norah in his arms, who was stroking his cheek with her chubby hand, and followed by the sewing-girl, whose cheeks bore traces of tears, and whose hunted, defiant look had given place to a dejected, gentle expression.
“Mrs. Scott, I want you to do me a kindness,” he said, in his authoritative, persuasive manner, to which people seldom thought it worth while to object. “I want you to take care of Miss Sullivan and this little cousin of hers, until I send them word they are wanted. It may be to-day, or not for a week. In the mean time, if you have any sewing to be done for yourself or little Johnny, she will be glad to help you.”
“She’s welcome to stay, I’m sure,” said the woman, in a tone not quite so sure.
“Thank you. I knew I could ask a favor of you. Johnny, come here, and make Miss Nora’s acquaintance. I’m ready, Richard, if you are, to return to the village. Lenore will wonder what has become of us. Good-morning, all.”
We walked away.
“Are you not afraid to leave that girl unguarded, after all the trouble she has given us?”
“She will stay there; she has promised me. If she chooses to run away, now, it is a matter of no consequence. I am perfectly, entirely convinced that she is innocent of any participation in the murder of Henry Moreland; or any knowledge of the murder—except, upon one point, I could use her testimony. I shall give my opinion to Mr. Argyll, with my grounds for it; if he chooses to arrest her, she will be there at the cottage. Richard, this affair has gone as far as it can! I shall tell Mr. Argyll, to-day, that I have withdrawn from it—that I give it up. But I am willing you should understand that I have not dropped it entirely—that I shall still retain my interest in it—still secretly pursue my investigations, which I believe I can carry on to the best advantage if all parties believe that I have given the matter up. Are you satisfied?”
“If I am not, what difference does it make? It is not for me to dictate your course. I believe that you think it is the best one.”
“I do. So will you some day, if we live to see the termination of this thing. In the mean time, I am your friend, Richard, whether I give any outward signs of friendship very soon or not. You are at liberty to devote yourself to the cause as ardently as ever—and if ever you wish to consult me, you will find me what you now know me.”
I felt strangely as we walked along together. He talked as if he thought some change were coming—as if things were to assume new shapes—as if I were to need friendship, and yet as if he should be compelled to conceal his for me behind a mask of coldness. I did not understand it. I felt half offended with him, and wholly disheartened.