‘Mr. Sugden,’ she said, wringing her hands, ‘when a gentleman thrusts himself into anyone’s secrets he is bound not to betray them. You will hear news here, which I did not wish to be known at present—Ombra is married.’
‘Married!’ he said, with a groan, which he could not restrain.
‘Yes, her husband is not able to be with her. We are waiting till he can join us—till he can make it public. You have found this out against our will; you must give me your word not to betray us.’
‘Why should I betray you?’ he said; ‘to whom? I came, not knowing. Since ever I knew her I have been her slave, you know. I will be so now. Is she—happy, at least?’
‘She is very happy,’ said Mrs. Anderson; and then her courage failed her, and she cried. She did not burst into tears—such an expression does not apply to women of her age. The tears which were, somehow, near the surface, fell suddenly, leaving no traces. ‘Everything is not so—comfortable as might be wished,’ she said, ‘but, so far as that goes, she is happy.’
‘May I come again?’ he said. His face had grown very long and pale; he looked like a man who had just come back from a funeral. ‘Or would you rather I went away at once?’
She gave another look at the sky, which had cleared; night was more distant than it had seemed ten minutes ago. And Mrs. Anderson did not think that it was selfishness on her part to think of her daughter first. She gave him her hand and pressed his, and said—
‘You are the kindest, the best friend. Oh, for her sake, go!’
And he went away with a heavy heart, striding over the dark unknown hills. It was long past midnight before he got shelter—but what did that matter? He would have done much more joyfully for her sake. But his last hope seemed gone as he went along that mountain way. He had hoped always to serve her sometime or other, and now he could serve her no more!