" He kept walking up and down
the little lawn, which a high shrubbery protected from the road,
making a futile attempt, as often as he thought of the policy of
it, to look unconcerned, and the next moment striking fierce,
objectless blows with his whip. Catching sight of him from a
window on the stair, Tom was so little reassured by his demeanor,
that, crossing the hall, he chose from the stand a thick oak
stick--poor odds against a hunting-whip in the hands of one like
Godfrey, with the steel of ten years of manhood in him.
Tom's long legs came doubling carelessly down the two steps from
the door, as, with a gracious wave of the hand, and swinging his
cudgel as if he were just going out for a stroll, he coolly
greeted his visitor. But the other, instead of returning the
salutation, stepped quickly up to him.
"Mr. Helmer, where is Miss Lovel?" he said, in a low voice.
Tom turned pale, for a pang of undefined fear shot through him,
and his voice betrayed genuine anxiety as he answered:
"I do not know. What has happened?"
Wardour's fingers gripped convulsively his whip-handle, and the
word _liar_ had almost escaped his lips; but, through the
darkness of the tempest raging in him, he yes read truth in Tom's
scared face and trembling words.
"You were with her last night," he said, grinding it out between
his teeth.
"I was," answered Tom, looking more scared still.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209