“Ugh!” she cried, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. “I could never marry him—never! Why, he is years and years older than I! Then he has such horrid eyes, and, when he smiles, his teeth look just like those of an ugly dog through that mustache of his, and make my flesh creep. I don’t believe that any man so repulsive can be really good, and I wonder how papa could have trusted him as he seemed to. I suppose, though, he must be a good business man; but marry him! I’d rather go into a convent and live out the rest of my life as a nun,” she concluded, with a shiver of disgust.
Then, suddenly, her thoughts reverted to Gerald, and a little color came back to her pale cheeks.
“I wonder where he can be,” she mused. “I think it is so strange that he has not been here—that he did not come to papa’s funeral, and has not even sent me a note to tell me that he is sorry for my trouble—he might, at least, have done as much as that.”
Her lips quivered, and hot tears rushed to her eyes, in view of this seeming neglect.
Many times during those days of loneliness and sorrow she had thought that if she could see Gerald, if only for a few minutes, his presence would be an inexpressible comfort to her; but she had told herself that it was his duty to either come to her, or send her a note of condolence, and she had been too proud to write and ask him to come.
But now, after her disagreeable interview with her guardian, the longing for him became so intense that, after struggling for a few moments with her emotions, she bowed her face upon her hands, and burst into violent weeping.
But poor Gerald was still a prisoner, awaiting his trial, which, for some inexplicable reason, had been deferred, from day to day, until he was now very impatient and miserable.
On Monday, after his arrest, he had sent a note to Professor Emerson, who, after listening to the young man’s story, looked grave and perplexed. The case seemed difficult, and he at once procured a lawyer, Mr. Arnold, for the prisoner. The latter at Gerald’s request, went to his room to procure the note that Mr. Brewster had written to him, but it was nowhere to be found.
The landlady was interviewed to ascertain, if possible, if any one outside the house had been in his room during his absence; but both she and the chambermaid asserted that there had not.
It was, nevertheless, a fact that John Hubbard had himself been there. As it happened, he knew another lodger in the same house, and on Monday evening following Gerald’s arrest, he called upon him, making a plausible errand of some kind. In this way he learned that Gerald’s room was located upon the same floor, and upon taking his leave, he shyly slipped into our hero’s apartment, and in less than two minutes reappeared with Mr. Brewster’s note in his possession, thus depriving his victim of an important piece of evidence.