“Poor darling, how badly she looks! Yet I never suspected before that she and her brother’s handsome tutor were in love with each other,” he thought.
“Dear uncle, please go on,” she exclaimed, eagerly.
“Oh, yes. Where was I when I stopped to think? Yes, Lady Heathcote told us that this morning, at daybreak, a conveyance was sent for Mr. Winthrop. An old gentleman was in it who claimed to be a relative of the young man. He insisted on taking the wounded man away, and as no one had the authority to prevent him, he did so.”
“And you followed?” she asked.
“No, for he left no address, saying bitterly that the young fellow had no friends to mourn for him. That is all I have to tell you, Edith.”
“But Guy will certainly send and let Eustace know where he is, uncle, do you not think so?”
Lord Chilton looked relieved at her brightening face.
“Certainly, undoubtedly, to-day or to-morrow,” he replied, cheerily. “Keep up your heart, little one. I will go now and send your brother to sit with you this morning if indeed he can tear himself away from the library, dry book-worm that he is. By-by, dear.”
He kissed her, smoothed her fair curls lovingly, and went out.
Presently came Eustace—pale, studious, quiet—a handsome pair they made—he was twenty, she eighteen.