“I am sure,” she said, making once more the same instinctive appeal to the sympathy of the stranger, “that you will not detain me longer than you can help, for my husband is very ill. I cannot help being very anxious——” She could not say any more.
“I am very sorry, Lady Markham—but that is the very thing that makes it so important. May I ask if it is possible you have never heard of me? Never even heard of me!—that is the strangest thing of all.”
In her surprise she managed better to get rid of her tears. She gave a startled glance at him, and then at the card she still held in her hand. “I cannot quite say that—for Mrs. Lenny and the Colonel both spoke—I cannot say of you—but of a family called Gaveston whom Sir William had known. You are the son, I presume, of an old friend? My husband, Mr. Gaveston,” said Lady Markham, with warmth, “is not a man to be indifferent to old friends. You may be sure he would have been glad to see you, and done his best to make Markham pleasant to you:—but the circumstances—explain——”
“Then,” said her strange companion with a certain air of sternness which changed the character of his face, “that is all you know?”
She looked at the card again. How was it she had not noticed the second name before? “I see you have Markham in your name,” she said; “I had not noticed. Is there then some distant relationship? But Mrs. Lenny never claimed to be a relation: or perhaps—I see! you are Sir William’s godson,” Lady Markham said, with a smile which was somewhat forced and uncomfortable. She kept her eyes upon him, uneasy, not knowing what might come next, vaguely foreseeing something which must wound her.
Mr. Gus’s brown countenance grew red—he gave forth a sharp and angry laugh. “His godson,” he said; “and that is all you know?”
Lady Markham grew far more red than he had done. Her beautiful face became crimson. The heat of shame and distress upon it seemed to get into her eyes. What was this suspicion that was flung into her mind like a fire-brand? and in this place where her husband’s blameless life had been passed, and at this moment when he was ill, perhaps approaching the end of all things! “Mr. Gaveston,” she said, trembling, “I cannot, I cannot hear any more. It is not to me you ought to come, and at such a time! Oh, if you have been put in any false position—if you have been subjected to humiliation, by anything my husband has done——” Her voice was choked by the growing heat and pain of her agitation; even to have such a horrible thought suggested to her now seemed cruelty incredible. It was wrong on her part to allow it to cross the threshold of a mind which was sacred to him. “Oh,” she cried, wringing her hands, “if you have had anything to suffer, I am sorry for you, with all my heart! but I cannot hear any more now—do not ask me to hear any more now! Another time, anything we can do for you, any amends that can be made to you—but oh, for God’s sake, think of the state he is lying in, and say no more now!”
Mr. Gus listened with wonder, irritation, and dismay. That she should be excited was natural, but with respect to their meaning, her words were like raving to him. He could not tell what she meant. Do anything for him, make him amends!—was the woman mad? He only stared at her blankly, and did not make any reply.
Then she held out her hand to him, trying to smile, with her eyes full of tears. “It shall not do you any harm eventually,” she said, “your kindness now. Thank you for not insisting now. I have not left—Sir William for so long a time since he was ill.”
She made a pause before her husband’s name. If it were possible that there might be a link between him and this stranger—a link as strong as——! It made her heart sick to think upon it; but she would not think upon it. It flashed upon her mind only, but was not permitted to stay there: and half because of real anxiety to get back to the sick-room, half from a still greater eagerness to get rid of her visitor, she made a step towards the door.