Presently, in a pause, Mabel said—
"Uncle Henry, are you not going to Oxford tomorrow?"
"Well, my dear," he replied, "I have not quite made up my mind; the truth is, Arthur," he added, turning to his brother-in-law, "my friend Horace Wilton has invited me to spend a few days with him during Whitsuntide."
"Then why not go?" said Arthur; "the change will be of benefit to you, and brace up your nerves for the ordeal on Sunday week."
"It seems so ungracious to leave you in your trouble for the gratification of myself; perhaps, however, I may run down to Oxford to-morrow and return on Monday."
"No, Henry, pray do not shorten your visit on my account; I shall very likely be in London nearly all next week—go in, Mabel," he added, observing his little daughter's earnest face; and as she obeyed, Henry replied earnestly to his remark: "Indeed, Arthur, you ought not to think of leaving us yet—you require a week or two longer of perfect rest before returning to business. I suppose there is nothing that requires immediate attention?" he asked, without a shadow of suspicion that the question would inflict a pang on the heart of his brother-in-law.
Controlling himself, he replied, "Nothing more important than examining poor Louisa's papers. I have put off the ordeal for a week, I had not sufficient fortitude even to think of it. But it must be done very shortly, and her desk and other matters are at our apartments in London. I shall perhaps only stay a few days this time, but I must rouse myself soon and return to business for the sake of my children."
"Then shall I find you at the Grange on my return?" said Henry.
"I shall no doubt remain in town at least a week," replied Arthur, "therefore you need not put off your visit on my account; and there is the summons to tea," he exclaimed as Mabel reappeared. "Your uncle and I are coming presently, my dear; go in and tell Miss Marston," and then, in a low hurried voice as soon as they were alone, he said: "Henry, pray don't speak of my visit to London before your father or Kate; I could not endure to discuss the subject with them."
Henry promised to be silent, yet wondering at the request. To him no relief could be greater than to unburden his heart to a true friend in any pressing anxiety. But Arthur's anxiety was not of a nature to be confided to another, and as they walked to the house he inwardly resolved that he would escape as quickly as possible from the scrutiny of the anxious eyes at the Grange, and from the memories which were revived by its associations, and rendered more painful by recent sad events.