From the moment she had quitted him nothing seemed to have gone right. He missed her every-ready offices, always performed so exactly as he wished them to be; he missed her soft voice, which had such power to soothe and allay his peevish fretfulness; and he missed her gentle smile, which had never failed to gladden his heart, and dispose it to a generous sympathy with the world and all whom it contained.
Never since her absence had he missed her so much as on the morning he had to face the fatigue of giving his evidence on the examination of Chewkle. He was so sure he should have been prepared to undergo the exertion by her admirable arrangements, and he was so convinced that she would, by her presence, have sustained him throughout his meeting with Vivian. But he had to do it all without her; for very obvious reasons he declined Flora’s offer to accompany him. He felt assured there was no advantage to be derived from giving her the opportunity of seeing young Vivian, if she did not speak to him—she had, in fact, seen him too often as it was.
So, accompanied by his son Mark and Lester Vane, he went to the Town Hall.
But ere he departed from his library he formed a design respecting Lotte—one he purposed keeping to himself until he could put it into execution.
He made a firm resolve to be no more placed in the predicament in which he felt himself to be that morning.
And so he reached the Town Hall, which was thronged with curious spectators. The attempt on Wilton’s life had been noised all over the county, and the gentry and farmers for miles round came to hear the examination.
They came to see, too, Mr. Wilton. His history was well known, as well as his understood successful claim to the Eglinton estates. Great curiosity was evinced to see the rich landed proprietor who had lived for years little better than a beggar in London.
Three was a somewhat anxious desire on the part of the fair sex, too, to have a peep at the young gentleman who had saved Mr. Wilton’s life. Report had declared him to be the very handsomest of fine young fellows; that Miss Wilton had fallen passionately in love with him, and was to be married to him in a month; that she had selected her trousseau, and was looking up her bridesmaids.
There was a very general morbid curiosity also to gaze on Mr. Chewkle.
Mr. Chewkle, whose race was run—Mr. Chewkle, who had possessed such faith in having the luck which was “all.” He possessed it no more: it had deserted him now. He knew it, and looked into the future with a vacant stare and blank despair.