“Geoffrey, stop!” she exclaimed unsteadily. “Do you know what you are saying? I can’t pretend to misunderstand you. You have no right to talk to me like that; it is too late—now.”
“Too late!” he repeated passionately. “Yes; I was a fool not to have spoken before. Forgive me, Celia, if I have said more than I ought.” He raised his hand, and wearily pushed the hair from off his brow. “I feel out of gear to-night; don’t think too hardly of me, will you? I may be going away soon—away, out of your life, far beyond the seas.”
They both heard some movement in the hall. Celia went to the door, and switched on more light.
“Going away?” she faltered, in surprise.
“Yes; to Australia. My agreement with Dr. Forrest terminates this month, and now that my uncle Neville Williams is dead, I have nothing particular to keep me at home. Unless——” His face lit up with sudden hope; he looked at her appealingly.
What he was going to say, however, died on his lips, for he heard the old doctor talking to Karne outside the door. With a swift movement he seated himself at the piano, and wandered off into the pathetic harmonies of Schumann’s “Warum?”
Celia remained standing by the mantelpiece, with bent head and solemn eyes. It had come as a revelation to her, the knowledge of Geoffrey’s love. Oh, if she had only known before! Why had he not told her? But it was too late now. She had promised herself to David Salmon; she would be true to her promise; she must be true, cost her what it might.
A touch on her shoulder interrupted her reverie. Her brother was standing at her side; his face was pale, and he looked disturbed.
“Celia dear, I have just received bad news,” he said, with some agitation. “Bad news from South Africa. It has come very suddenly. I am afraid it will give you a shock, but it is best that you should know it at once—your father is dead.”
Geoffrey’s hands fell on the keys with a discordant crash; the news came as the death-blow to his hopes.