Armadale

'Do you think seven or eight and twenty is too old for me? If you were in love with a woman yourself, you wouldn't think seven or eight and twenty too old—would you?'

'I can't say I should think it too old, if—'

'If you were really fond of her?'

Once more there was no answer.

'Well,' resumed Allan, 'if there's no harm in her being only a governess, and no harm in her being a little older than I am, what's the objection to Miss Gwilt?'

'I have made no objection.'

'I don't say you have. But you don't seem to like the notion of it, for all that.'

There was another pause. Midwinter was the first to break the silence this time.

'Are you sure of yourself, Allan?' he asked, with his face bent once more over the book. 'Are you really attached to this lady? Have you thought seriously already of asking her to be your wife?'

'I am thinking seriously of it at this moment,' said Allan. 'I can't be happy—I can't live without her. Upon my soul, I worship the very ground she treads on!'

'How long—' His voice faltered, and he stopped. 'How long,' he reiterated, 'have you worshipped the very ground she treads on?'

'Longer than you think for. I know I can trust you with all my secrets—'

'Don't trust me!'

'Nonsense! I will trust you. There is a little difficulty in the way which I haven't mentioned yet. It's a matter of some delicacy, and I want to consult you about it. Between ourselves, I have had private opportunities with Miss Gwilt—'

Midwinter suddenly started to his feet, and opened the door.

'We'll talk of this to-morrow,' he said. 'Good-night.'

Allan looked round in astonishment. The door was closed again, and he was alone in the room.

'He has never shaken hands with me!' exclaimed Allan, looking bewildered at the empty chair.

As the words passed his lips the door opened, and Midwinter appeared again.

'We haven't shaken hands,' he said, abruptly. 'God bless you, Allan! We'll talk of it to-morrow. Good- night.'

Allan stood alone at the window, looking out at the pouring rain. He felt ill at ease, without knowing why. 'Midwinter's ways get stranger and stranger,' he thought. 'What can he mean by putting me off till to-morrow, when I wanted to speak to him to-night?' He took up his bedroom candle a little impatiently, put it down again, and, walking back to the open window, stood looking out in the direction of the cottage. 'I wonder if she's thinking of me?' he said to himself softly.

She was thinking of him. She had just opened her desk to write to Mrs. Oldershaw; and her pen had that moment traced the opening line: 'Make your mind easy. I have got him!'

XIII. EXIT.

It rained all through the night, and when the morning came it was raining still.

Contrary to his ordinary habit, Midwinter was waiting in the breakfast-room when Allan entered it. He looked worn and weary, but his smile was gentler and his manner more composed than usual. To Allan's surprise he approached the subject of the previous night's conversation of his own accord as soon as the servant was out of the room.

'I am afraid you thought me very impatient and very abrupt with you last night,' he said. 'I will try to make amends for it this morning. I will hear everything you wish to say to me on the subject of Miss Gwilt.'

'I hardly like to worry you,' said Allan. 'You look as if you had had a bad night's rest.'

'I have not slept well for some time past,' replied Midwinter, quietly. 'Something has been wrong with me. But I believe I have found out the way to put myself right again without troubling the doctors. Late in the morning I shall have something to say to you about this. Let us get back first to what you were talking of last night. You were speaking of some difficulty—' He hesitated, and finished the sentence in a tone so low that Allan failed to hear him. 'Perhaps it would be better,' he went on, 'if, instead of speaking to me, you spoke to Mr. Brock?'

'I would rather speak to you,' said Allan. 'But tell me first, was I right or wrong last night in thinking you disapproved of my falling in love with Miss Gwilt?'

Midwinter's lean, nervous fingers began to crumble the bread in his plate. His eyes looked away from Allan for the first time.

'If you have any objection,' persisted Allan, 'I should like to hear it.'

Midwinter suddenly looked up again, his cheeks turning ashy pale, and his glittering black eyes fixed full on Allan's face.

'You love her,' he said. 'Does she love you?'

'You won't think me vain?' returned Allan. 'I told you yesterday I had had private opportunities with her —'

Midwinter's eyes dropped again to the crumbs on his plate. 'I understand,' he interposed, quickly. 'You were wrong last night. I had no objections to make.'