"In search of Arthur Channing, William?"
"No, uncle. In quest of that other search that has been upon my mind so long. An idea has forced itself upon me lately that it--might have been a woman."
"For heaven's sake drop it," exclaimed Bede, with strange agitation. "Don't you see Louisa?"
She could not have heard--but Bede was always thus. He had his reasons for not allowing it to be spoken of before her. One of them was this. In the days gone by, just before their marriage, Clare Joliffe, suddenly introducing the subject of Ollivera's death, when Bede was present, said to her sister in a tone between jest and earnest, that she (Louisa) had been the cause of it. Clare meant no more than that her conduct had caused him to end his life--as it was supposed he did. But Louisa, partly with passion, had gone into a state of agitation so great as to alarm Bede. Never, from that time, would he suffer it to be mentioned before her if he could guard against it.
"But, William what do you mean about a woman?" asked Mr. Greatorex, dropping his voice to a low key.
"Uncle Greatorex, I cannot explain myself. I must go on in my own way, until the time to speak shall come. That the clearance of the past is rapidly advancing I feel sure of. A subtle instinct whispers it to me. My dreams tell it me. Forget for the present what I said. I ought not to have spoken."
"You are visionary as usual," said Bede, sarcastically.
"I know that you always think me so," was the clergyman's answer, and he turned to depart.
There was a general dispersion. Only Mr. Greatorex remained in the room: and he had fallen into deep thought: when Roland Yorke, in his chronic state of excitement, dashed in. Without any ceremony he flung himself into a chair.
"Mr. Greatorex, I am nearly dead-beat. What with cutting about perpetually, and meeting depressing disappointments, and catching up horrible new fears, it's enough to wear a fellow out, sir."