"Have you no pity? Will nothing move you?"
"It will be quite a little holiday for you. Nothing to do--absolutely nothing to do. I will do all the business, attend to the letters, and answer all inquiries. 'Has Mr. Van Duren got back home yet?' 'No, sir, he is still in France, but I am expecting him every day.' Ha! ha! and you here all the time! Won't it be a lark, Van, my boy, eh?"
A deep groan was the only reply.
"And now I'm just going round the corner in search of an early nip to digest my breakfast. Don't get downhearted, because I shan't be long away. No, no, I value you too much to stay away from you for very long."
And, turning on his heel, Jonas Pringle walked leisurely away, whistling to himself as he went.
[CHAPTER X.]
TOLD AT LAST.
Olive Deane had taken her leave of Lady Dudgeon and was crossing the hall towards the side door, close to which the fly that had brought her from Pembridge was still waiting, when suddenly the doors at the opposite side of the hall were opened, and, as they swung back on their hinges, a sight met her eyes that for a moment or two seemed to turn her to stone.
Supported on one side by Dr. Whitaker, and resting his other arm on the shoulder of Pod Piper, like a man newly risen from the tomb, Matthew Kelvin stepped slowly and painfully across the threshold. His thin, bent form, his long, bony fingers, the worn, hollow face, the pinched nostrils, the deep-sunk eyes, and the grave-like pallor that overspread his features, made up a figure that looked far more weird and startling when seen thus in the full glare of day than in the semi-obscurity and amid the appropriate surroundings of a sickroom.
A strange, fierce light sprang to the sick man's eyes the moment he saw who was standing there. Olive's cheek whitened as she looked, her breath came more quickly, she pressed her hand involuntarily to her heart, as though she were in pain; then she went two or three steps nearer, and then she halted again, as though in doubt or fear.