These matters were not mentioned to Mrs. Werner, but they filled Lord Darsham with a terrible uneasiness.
He felt thankful that his cousin was leaving that huge town house which lawyers and auctioneers, and bankruptcy messengers, were soon to fill with their pervading presence.
"May I come and see you, Mrs. Mortomley?" he asked, as he bade her good-bye at the Great Eastern terminus.
"Certainly," she answered. "Our cottage is a small one, but, as the Americans say, it opens into all out of doors."
He retained her hand for a moment, looked earnestly in her face as she said this, then the train was off, and, she smiling at him, bowed and kissed her finger in acknowledgment of his uplifted hat.
They were gone, and he walked slowly out of the station full of a fancy her words had conjured up.
CHAPTER XIII.
SAD CONFIDENCES.
Winter was gone, spring had come, and if the song of the turtle dove was not heard in the land, the wood-pigeons made noise enough about the Mortomleys' house to almost deafen its occupants.