‘Mr. Sugden!’ Mrs. Anderson cried in dismay; and then she recovered her prudence, and held out her hand to him, coming between him and Ombra. ‘What a very curious meeting this is!—what an unexpected pleasure! Of all places in the world, to meet a Shanklin friend at Loch Arroch! Ombra, do not disturb yourself, dear; we need not stand on ceremony with such an old friend as Mr. Sugden. My poor child has a dreadful cold.’
And then he took her hand into his own—Ombra’s hand—which he used to sit and watch as she worked—the whitest, softest hand. It felt so small now, like a shadow, and the flush, had gone from her face. He seemed to see nothing but those eyes, watching him with fear and suspicion—eyes which distrusted him, and reminded him that he had no business here.
And he sat down by the sofa, and talked ordinary talk, and told them of Shanklin, which he had left. He had been making a pedestrian tour in Scotland. Yes, it was early, but he did not mind the weather, and the time suited him. It was a surprise to him to see Francesca, but he had heard that Mrs. Anderson had left Langton-Courtenay——
‘Yes,’ she said, briefly, without explanation; and added—‘We were travelling, like you, when Ombra fell in love with this place. You must have seen it to perfection if you walked down the glen to-day—the Glencoe Hills were glorious to-day. Which is your next stage? I am afraid Mrs. Macdonald has scarcely room——’
‘Oh! yes, she has given me a room for to-night,’ he said; and he saw the mother and daughter look at each other, and said to himself, in an agony of humiliation, what a fool he had been—what an intrusive, impertinent fool!
When he took his leave, Mrs. Anderson went after him to the door; she asked, with trepidation in her voice, how long he meant to stay. This was too much for the poor fellow; he led the way along the passage to the staircase window, lest Ombra should hear through the half-open door.
‘Mrs. Anderson,’ he said hoarsely, ‘once you promised me if she should ever want a brother’s help or a brother’s care—not that it is what I could have wished——’
‘Mr. Sugden, this is ridiculous; I can take care of my own child. You have no right to come and hunt us out, when you know—when you can see that we wish—to be private.’ Then, with a sudden change, she added—‘Oh, you are very good—I am sure you are very good, but she wants for nothing. Dear Mr. Sugden, if you care for her or me, go away.
‘I will go away to-morrow,’ he said, with a deep sigh of disappointment and resignation.
She looked out anxiously at the sky. It was clouding over; night was coming on—there was no possibility of sending him away that night.