Like a thief he crept to the study, re-sealed with infinite precaution the envelope he had opened, and slipped it into the post-bag.
Later, as he lay rigid, open-eyed, in his bed, watching the dawn creep on, it almost seemed to him as if the tumult and energy of his thoughts must travel through the door and penetrate to the silent room within—to the little golden head which, please God, was forgetting its sorrows temporarily in dreams.
If he could but send her a wordless message—some deep impression of penitence, of reverence, of his hunger to be forgiven!
Could this indeed be Gaunt of Omberleigh? Changed, the whole structure of his character demolished in a few hours by mere contact with the crystal honesty of a very simple girl!
CHAPTER XV
NO PLACE OF REPENTANCE
"The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on. Nor all your piety nor wit
Can lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it."
—Omar Khayyám.
Next morning, when Virginia's breakfast-tray went up, there lay upon it a fat envelope, addressed to her in pencil by Gaunt. It contained a packet of bank-notes, with the intimation that this was her first quarter's allowance of pocket-money. He added that he should expect her to keep an account of what she spent, and that her account-book should be accessible to him on demand.
He hardly knew how to describe the impulse which made him throw in that stipulation. It came primarily from a desire to gloat over the beauties of this character so suddenly revealed to him. He wanted to know what proportion of his somewhat lavish gift was spent upon herself, and how much went to the shark at Laburnum Villa.