Bertie faced round upon him in the middle of his packing, which he had resumed, and said, ‘Well!’ in a querulous voice—a voice which already sounded like that of a man put on his defence.
‘Well!’ said the Curate—‘I don’t think it is well. She is not Miss Anderson now. But I see you know that. Mr. Hardwick, if you know anything of her husband, I think you should urge him not to leave her alone there. She looks—not very well. Poor Ombra!’ cried the Curate, warming into eloquence. ‘I have no right to call her by her name, but that I—I was fond of her too. I would have given my life for her! And she is like her name—she is like a shadow, that is ready to flit away.’
Bertie Hardwick listened with an agitated countenance—he grew red and pale, and began to pace about the room; but he made no answer—he was confused and startled by what his visitor said.
‘I daresay my confession does not interest you much,’ Mr. Sugden resumed. ‘I make it to show I have some right—to take an interest, at least. That woman for whom I would give my life, Mr. Hardwick, is pining there for a man who leaves her to pine—a man who must be neglecting her shamefully, for it cannot be long since he married her—a man who——’
‘And pray, Mr. Sugden,’ said Bertie, choking with apparent anger and agitation, ‘where did you obtain your knowledge of this man?’
‘Not from her,’ said the Curate; ‘but by chance—by the inquiries I made in my surprise. Mr. Hardwick, if you know who it is who is so happy, and so negligent of his happiness——’
‘Well?’
‘He has no right to stay away from her after this warning,’ cried the Curate, rising to his feet. ‘Do you understand what a thing it is for me to come and say so?—to one who is throwing away what I would give my life for? But she is above all. If he stays away from her, he will reproach himself for it all his life!’
And with these words he turned to go. He had said enough—his own eyes were beginning to burn and blaze. He felt that he might seize this false lover by the throat if he stayed longer. And he had at least done all he could for Ombra. He had said enough to move any man who was a man. He made a stride towards the door in his indignation; but Bertie Hardwick interrupted him, with his hand on his arm.
‘Sugden,’ he said, with a voice full of emotion, ‘I am not so bad as you think me; but I am not so good as you are. The man you speak of shall hear your warning. But there is one thing I have a right to ask. What you learnt by chance, you will not make any use of—not to her cousin, for instance, who knows nothing. You will respect her secret there?’