"
"Well, perhaps I should; yes, I am sure I should. You have acted rightly,
after all, Val." And it was a candid admission, considering what she had
been previously saying. He bent towards her with a smile, his voice quite
unsteady with its earnestness.
"You see now with what motive I kept the letter from you. Maude! cannot
this be an earnest that you should trust me for the rest? In all I do, as
Heaven is my witness, I place your comfort first and foremost."
"Don't be angry with me," she cried, softening at the words.
He laid his hand on his wife's bent head, thinking how far he was from
anger. Anger? He would have died for her then, at that moment, if it
might have saved her from the sin and shame that she must share with him.
"Have you told mamma, Percival?"
"Not yet. It would not have been kept from you long had she known it. She
is not up yet, I think."
"Who has written?"
"The doctor who attended him."
"You'll let me read the letter?"
"I have written to desire that full particulars may be sent to you: you
shall read that one."
The tacit refusal did not strike her. She only supposed the future letter
would be more explanatory. He was always anxious for her; and he had
written off on the Friday night to ask for a letter giving fuller
particulars, whilst avoiding mention of the cause of death.
Thus harmony for the hour was restored between them; and Lord Hartledon
stood the dowager's loud reproaches with equanimity.
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