Tony nodded.
“I’m to leave the key of the house at Mr. Benton’s in the mornin’ an’ tell him everythin’s cleaned up an’ in order. An’ Miss Lucy said I was to stay here an’ go on with the work till you or somebody else told me to stop.”
Without comment Martin listened. Slowly the truth made its impress on his mind. Lucy had gone! Gone!
With the knowledge, all the latent affection he felt for her crystallized into a mighty tide that rushed over and engulfed him in its current. Hatred, revenge, pride were no more; only love persisted,—love the all-powerful, the all-conquering, the all-transforming.
Lucy, dearer to him than his own soul, had gone. Either in anger, or driven forth by 288 maiden shyness, she had fled from him; and until she was brought back and was safe within the shelter of his arms, nothing remained for him in life.
Tony saw him square his shoulders and turn away.
“Good night, Mr. Howe,” he called.
“Good night, Tony.”
“Any orders for to-morrow?”
“No. Go on with your work as usual. Just be sure to water Miss Lucy’s flowers.”