One thought only went through my head--that,
come what might, I would no more give up John, than if I were already
married to him in the church.
"But why--what is it, uncle?" I said, hardly able to get the words out.
"I will tell you another time," he answered, and rising, went to the
door.
"John is going to London," I said, following him.
"Is he?" he returned listlessly.
"He wants to see his lawyer, and try to get things on a footing of some
sort between his mother and him."
"That is very proper," he replied, with his hand on the lock.
"But you don't think it would be safe for him to travel to-night--do you,
uncle--so soon after his illness?" I asked.
"No, I cannot say I do. It would not be safe. He is welcome to stop till
to-morrow."
"Will you not tell him so, uncle? He is bent on going!"
"I would rather not see him! There is no occasion. It will be a great
relief to me when he is able--quite able, I mean--to go home to his
mother--or where it may suit him best."
It was indeed like death to hear my uncle talk so differently about John.
What had he done to be treated in this way--taken up and made a friend
of, and then cast off without reason given! My dear uncle was not at all
like himself! To say he forgot our trouble and danger, and never came
near us in our sore peril, when we owed our deliverance to him! and now
to speak like this concerning John! Something was terribly wrong with
him! I dared hardly think what it could be.
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