“Love you, my darling?” he cried passionately—“why, of course I do. How can you doubt me? You surely know that, for me, there is only one good, true woman in all the world—your own dear, sweet self!” She smiled in full content, burying her pretty head upon his shoulder.
“Then—then you really will take care of yourself, Jack—won’t you?” she implored. “When you are absent I’m always thinking—and wondering—”
“And worrying, I fear, little one,” he interrupted. “Now don’t worry. I assure you that I’m quite safe—that—”
His sentence was interrupted by a tap at the door. They sprang apart, and Littlewood, old Dan’s neat, middle-aged manservant—a North-country man, a trusted friend of the family—entered and, addressing Jack, said, with that pleasant burr in his voice:
“There’s a gentleman called, sir—gives the name of Murray, sir. He wants to see you a moment upon some rather urgent business.”
“Murray?” echoed Jack. “I don’t recollect the name. Who is he?”
“He’s a gentleman, sir. He’s down in the hall. He won’t detain you a minute, he says,” was the man’s reply.
“Then excuse me a moment,” he said in apology to Elise, and left the room, descending to the hall with Littlewood.
Below stood a clean-shaven man in a black overcoat who, advancing to meet him, said—“Are you Mr Sainsbury, sir?”
“Yes. That’s my name,” replied the young man.