Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant. The attention which she had failed to accord to what had passed between his aunt and himself she had given to the imperfect statement which he had extracted from the man. Her face plainly showed that she had listened as eagerly as Lady Janet had listened; with this remarkable difference between there, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet’s companion showed no signs of alarm. She appeared to be interested; perhaps anxious—nothing more.
Julian spoke a parting word to his aunt.
“Pray compose yourself,” he said “I have little doubt, when I can learn the particulars, that we shall easily find this person in the grounds. There is no reason to be uneasy. I am going to superintend the search myself. I will return to you as soon as possible.”
Lady Janet listened absently. There was a certain expression in her eyes which suggested to Julian that her mind was busy with some project of its own. He stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way out by the billiard-room door. It cost him a hard effort to control the contending emotions which the mere act of looking at her now awakened in him. His heart beat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her.
“You shall see me again,” he said. “I never was more in earnest in promising you my truest help and sympathy than I am now.”
She understood him. Her bosom heaved painfully; her eyes fell to the ground—she made no reply. The tears rose in Julian’s eyes as he looked at her. He hurriedly left the room.
When he turned to close the billiard-room door, he heard Lady Janet say, “I will be with you again in a moment, Grace; don’t go away.”
Interpreting these words as meaning that his aunt had some business of her own to attend to in the library, he shut the door. He had just advanced into the smoking-room beyond, when he thought he heard the door open again. He turned round. Lady Janet had followed him.
“Do you wish to speak to me?” he asked.
“I want something of you,” Lady Janet answered, “before you go.”