He gazed at her with compassion, not unmixed with wonder: but, he made no gesture of assent.
‘I don’t think she CAN know,’ pursued Clemency, ‘how truly they forgive her; how they love her; what joy it would be to them, to see her once more. She may be timorous of going home. Perhaps if she sees me, it may give her new heart. Only tell me truly, Mr. Warden, is she with you?’
‘She is not,’ he answered, shaking his head.
This answer, and his manner, and his black dress, and his coming back so quietly, and his announced intention of continuing to live abroad, explained it all. Marion was dead.
He didn’t contradict her; yes, she was dead! Clemency sat down, hid her face upon the table, and cried.
At that moment, a grey-headed old gentleman came running in: quite out of breath, and panting so much that his voice was scarcely to be recognised as the voice of Mr. Snitchey.
‘Good Heaven, Mr. Warden!’ said the lawyer, taking him aside, ‘what wind has blown – ‘ He was so blown himself, that he couldn’t get on any further until after a pause, when he added, feebly, ‘you here?’
‘An ill-wind, I am afraid,’ he answered. ‘If you could have heard what has just passed – how I have been besought and entreated to perform impossibilities – what confusion and affliction I carry with me!’
‘I can guess it all. But why did you ever come here, my good sir?’ retorted Snitchey.
‘Come! How should I know who kept the house? When I sent my servant on to you, I strolled in here because the place was new to me; and I had a natural curiosity in everything new and old, in these old scenes; and it was outside the town. I wanted to communicate with you, first, before appearing there. I wanted to know what people would say to me. I see by your manner that you can tell me. If it were not for your confounded caution, I should have been possessed of everything long ago.’
‘Our caution!’ returned the lawyer, ‘speaking for Self and Craggs – deceased,’ here Mr. Snitchey, glancing at his hat-band, shook his head, ‘how can you reasonably blame us, Mr. Warden? It was understood between us that the subject was never to be renewed, and that it wasn’t a subject on which grave and sober men like us (I made a note of your observations at the time) could interfere. Our caution too! When Mr. Craggs, sir, went down to his respected grave in the full belief – ‘
‘I had given a solemn promise of silence until I should return, whenever that might be,’ interrupted Mr. Warden; ‘and I have kept it.’
‘Well, sir, and I repeat it,’ returned Mr. Snitchey, ‘we were bound to silence too. We were bound to silence in our duty towards ourselves, and in our duty towards a variety of clients, you among them, who were as close as wax. It was not our place to make inquiries of you on such a delicate subject. I had my suspicions, sir; but, it is not six months since I have known the truth, and been assured that you lost her.’
‘By whom?’ inquired his client.
‘By Doctor Jeddler himself, sir, who at last reposed that confidence in me voluntarily. He, and only he, has known the whole truth, years and years.’
‘And you know it?’ said his client.
‘I do, sir!’ replied Snitchey; ‘and I have also reason to know that it will be broken to her sister to-morrow evening. They have given her that promise. In the meantime, perhaps you’ll give me the honour of your company at my house; being unexpected at your own. But, not to run the chance of any more such difficulties as you have had here, in case you should be recognised – though you’re a good deal changed; I think I might have passed you myself, Mr. Warden – we had better dine here, and walk on in the evening. It’s a very good place to dine at, Mr. Warden: your own property, by- the-bye. Self and Craggs (deceased) took a chop here sometimes, and had it very comfortably served. Mr. Craggs, sir,’ said Snitchey, shutting his eyes tight for an instant, and opening them again, ‘was struck off the roll of life too soon.’