Richard felt that life, in a way, was over for him, but for this brilliant young creature it was only just beginning. Touched as he was by her faith in him, he knew that it would be folly for her to cling to a man over whom hung the shadow of disgrace. As yet, he could not wound her feelings by telling her so. But presently, when he had recovered himself sufficiently to think and plan, he would pass quietly out of her life.
“He may be stern and hard at times, but he is always just,” said Rosabelle. “He will not think the less of me because I refuse to believe you guilty. Why, Dick, I know you so well,” she added impetuously. “I would not credit the evidence of my own eyes against your word. If these things had been found in your pockets and you had denied you stole them, I would have believed you, and known the real thief had put them there for the purpose of incriminating you.”
Young Croxton smiled a wan smile at his sweetheart’s vehemence. Can anything equal the blind faith of a woman in the man she loves? It is one of those qualities amongst many which they must surely derive from a divine source.
“He is sore and angry over his loss now,” went on the beautiful girl. “In a day or two he will calm down, and see that he has been too hasty in his judgment.”
“I have never known him angry over losses, and hardly a year goes by that he does not make heavy ones,” answered Richard sadly. “No, to do him justice, what has cut him to the quick is the supposed discovery of my unworthiness.”
Half an hour later, Richard Croxton had left the familiar house in Deanery Street which had sheltered him so long. His sweetheart bade him a tearful farewell, and Mrs. Morrice, to whom the young couple explained the terrible happenings of the morning, showed considerable emotion. In her heart, she would have preferred her nephew, Archie Brookes, as a husband for Rosabelle, but she had always been very fond of Richard, and stoutly expressed her belief in his innocence.
A taxi bore him swiftly to the neat little ivy-covered cottage at Petersham, where he received a hearty welcome from his old nurse, a comely old woman verging upon her seventieth year, but hale and vigorous for her age. To her he did not explain the actual truth, but simply stated that circumstances had suddenly arisen which rendered necessary the severing of his connection with Mr. Morrice.
The good, simple old soul said little, but she was very upset at the news. She knew very well that the great financier had treated him like a son, and that this sudden separation meant the ruin of his bright prospects.
“And Miss Rosabelle?” she inquired anxiously. Hitherto he had kept few secrets from the faithful and sympathetic old woman, who had long ago learned the history of his love affair.
“She will come and see me, dear old nurse, that is to say, if her uncle does not expressly forbid her.”