I stood speechless.
My uncle opened the door, and went down the steps. The sound of his feet
along the corridor and down the stair to the kitchen, died away in my
ears. My life seemed to go ebbing with it. I was stranded on a desert
shore, and he in whom I had trusted was leaving me there!
I came to myself a little, got the two five-pound-notes, and returned to
John.
When I reached the door of the room, I found my heart in my throat, and
my brains upside down. What was I to say to him? How could I let him go
away so late? and how could I let him stay where his departure would be a
relief? Even I would have him gone from where he was not wanted! I saw,
however, that my uncle must not have John's death at his door--that I
must persuade him to stay the night. I went in, and gave him the notes,
but begged him, for my love, to go to bed. In the morning, I said, I
would drive him to the station.
He yielded with difficulty--but with how little suspicion that all the
time I wished him gone! I went to bed only to lie listening for my
uncle's return. It was long past midnight ere he came.
In the morning I sent Penny to order the phaeton, and then ran to my
uncle's room, in the hope he would want to see John before he left: I was
not sure he had realized that he was going.
He was neither in his bed-room nor in the study. I went to the stable.
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