A wish I could not altogether find it in my heart to echo. But, as he fell silent, staring out over the sun-bathed country, through the cloud of dust raised by wheels and horse-hoofs—subtle lines of care and of bitterness deforming the youthfulness of his beautiful face—I was spared the necessity of answering, for which I was glad.
All day—though towards me he had shown himself uniformly courteous and gentle, loving even—the boy’s spirits had fluctuated, his moods being many and diverse. At one time he was full of anecdote and racy talk, at another steeped in gloom or irritably explosive, swearing in most approved fine-gentleman fashion at any and every thing not exactly to his taste. In short, while he avoided any mention of the object of our journey and our conversation of last night, I could not but see these were persistently uppermost in his thought, keeping his nerves cruelly on edge. What wonder, when all his future hung in the balance! How far did he actually love Fédore—how far actually want her proved innocent? I could not tell. His attitude baffled me. Yet it seemed incredible the society of such a woman should continue to satisfy him—that differences of age, station, nationality, education, should not be prolific, at times at all events, of repulsion and something akin to disgust. Quite independent of that matter of the jewels and the ugly suspicions raised by it, must he not have begun by now to measure the enormity of his mistake in marrying her? I, at once, hoped and feared he had. While, as the miles of road fled away behind us beneath the horses’ trotting feet, the sadness of his position grew upon me, until I had much ado to keep my feelings to myself.
Once arrived, Hartover slipped his arm through mine, and we entered the stately house together, while he said, a little huskily:
‘Brownlow, it is good to have you—very good of you to come. Don’t imagine I do not appreciate what you are doing for me because to-day I have not said much about it. Oh! how I wish you could always be with me! Having given Cambridge the slip, you’ll stay now, won’t you, as long as you possibly can?’
Deeply touched by his affection, I was about to assure him I would indeed remain while I was of any real service and comfort to him, when William—grown stout, sleek, but, as I thought, a good deal more trustworthy-looking—came forward with a packet on a salver.
‘What’s that?’ Hartover inquired sharply. ‘Put it down. I cannot be bothered with it now.’
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ the man answered, with evident unwillingness, ‘but I am bound to bring it to your notice. His lordship sent by express this morning from Bath. The messenger is waiting for your acknowledgment.’
Hartover’s hand grew heavy on my arm.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will send my orders presently.’
And he led me into a fine room, opening off the corridor on the left, where supper had been laid for us.