This reply took John Trevanion so much by surprise that he went on without a word.
She knew very well what Blake’s visit portended to herself. But what a strange, philosophical stoic was this woman, who did not hesitate herself to summon, to hasten, lest he should lose the moment in which she could still be injured, the executioner of her fate. A sort of awe came over John. He begun to blame himself for his miserable doubts of such a woman. There was something in this silent impassioned performance of everything demanded from her that impressed the imagination. After a few minutes’ slow pacing along, restraining his horse, Blake threw the reins to his groom, and, jumping down, walked on by John Trevanion’s side.
“I suppose there is no such alarming hurry, then,” he said. “Of course you know what’s up now?”
“If you mean what are my brother’s intentions, I know nothing about them,” John said.
“No more do I. I can’t think what he’s got in his mind; though we have been very confidential over it all.” Mr. Blake elder was an old-fashioned and polite old gentleman, but his son belonged to another world, and pushed his way by means of a good deal of assurance and no regard to any one’s feelings. “It would be a great assistance to me,” he said, “if he’s going to tamper with that will again, to know how the land lies. What is wrong? There must have been, by all I hear, a great flare-up.”
“Will you remember, Blake, that you are speaking of my brother’s affairs? We are not in the habit of having flares-up here.”
“I mean no offence,” said the other. “It’s a lie, then, that is flying about the country.”
“What is flying about the country? If it is about a flare-up you may be sure it is a lie.”
“I don’t stand upon the word,” said Blake. “I thought I might speak frankly to you. Rumors are flying everywhere—that Mr. Trevanion is out of one fit into another—dying of it—and that Madam—”
“What of Madam?” said John Trevanion, firmly.