And I felt, rather than saw, his eyes fixed on mine—felt, too, that his face flushed.
‘I knew perfectly well by waiting I risked losing what I supremely long for. But I accepted that risk as part of my penance—the very heart of it, in fact.’
‘Yes,’ I murmured, greatly marvelling to what his speech should lead up.
He leaned across and laid his hand on my knee.
‘I rode over to Westrea to-day,’ he said.
‘Westrea? What do you know—how have you heard about Westrea?’ I exclaimed.
‘From Warcop, when last we were at Hover. I could not say anything to you, Brownlow, because I would not have you involved. The Braithwaites were your friends, and I didn’t want, of course, to come between you and them, which could hardly have been avoided if—well, if things had turned out badly for me.’
Again that note of uncontrollable gladness in his voice.
‘I felt it would be unfair to ask questions of you, as I could not explain; and the penance had to be completed in full before I could talk of it. But Warcop was different. I had no scruple in finding out from him where they—where she—now lived. And⸺’
He turned, leaning his elbow on the window-sill, speaking softly, and looking out into the fair windless night.