They returned through the town. Hugh rushed into the telegraph office and despatched a message:—
“Are you mad? I am coming.”
“I hope you have done nothing rash,” said Cahusac, who had waited for him outside.
“I’ve told him that I am coming. I must go back straight, Cahusac. It is treating you miserably. But you see I can’t go on. I must see him—put a stop to this infamous business—drag him to his knees before his wife.”
“Take a sober man’s advice, Colman,” said the other, “and have it out with Mrs. Merriam first.”
Hugh’s eyes flashed and his lips curled in a smile beneath his moustache. Superfluous counsel! His heart hungered for her. There was a spice of irony in his thanks.
A few hours later Cahusac accompanied him to the railway station. The final adieux came.
“I owe you a great debt of gratitude, Cahusac,” said Hugh.
“I have enjoyed every minute of the holiday,” replied the other heartily.
“So have I. It has made a fresh man of me. I can face this now, thanks to you. If it had come on top of all the rest, I believe it would have floored me. A man is only capable of a certain amount of convulsion at a time.”