George shook his head. "It would not do, Mark; the responsibility is too great. Were anything to happen to Rupert—and I believe he is in danger—you and I should blame ourselves for not having called in advice at all risks. I shall get King here somehow."
He went out as he spoke, partly perhaps to avoid further opposition to what he felt must be done. Yet he did not see the surrounding difficulties the less, and halted in thought outside the lodge door.
At that moment, Maude Trevlyn came into view, walking slowly down the avenue. George advanced to meet her, and could not help noticing her listless step, her pale, weary face.
"Maude, what is the trouble now?"
That she had been grieving, and recently, her eyes betrayed. Struggling for a brief moment with her feelings, she gave way to a burst of tears.
George drew her into the trees. "Maude, Maude, if you go on like this you will be ill. What is it?"
"This suspense!—this agony!" she breathed. "Every day, almost every hour, something or other occurs to renew the trouble. If it could only end! I cannot bear it much longer. I feel as if I must go off to the ends of the earth in search of him. If I only knew he was living, it would be something."
George took rapid counsel with himself. Surely Maude would be safe; surely it would be a charity, nay, a duty, to tell her! He drew her hand in his, and bent his face near to hers.
"Maude! what will you give me for news I have heard? I can give you tidings of Rupert. He is not dead; not even very far away!"
For an instant her heart stood still. But George glanced round as with fear, and his tones were sad.