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Updated: May 16, 2025
Before it was possible to stop him again, he had jumped into the carriage and had left the house. Midwinter's face darkened when the last trace of the carriage had disappeared from view. "I have done my best," he said, as he turned back gloomily into the house "If Mr. Brock himself were here, Mr. Brock could do no more!"
With trifling incidents, in which not even Midwinter's nervous watchfulness could see anything to distrust, it was still to proceed, until the night came a night which one at least of the two companions was destined to remember to the end of his life. Before the travelers had advanced two miles on their road, an accident happened.
Brock's letter has, apparently, not lost its influence yet. Midwinter is working again to-day, and is as anxious as ever for the holiday-time that he is to pass with his friend. "Two o'clock. Armadale here as usual; eager to know when Midwinter will be at his service. No definite answer to be given to the question yet, seeing that it all depends on Midwinter's capacity to continue at his desk.
But Midwinter's early life with the gypsy master had been of a nature to practice him in such stratagems as he was now compelled to adopt. He walked away toward the waiting-room by the line of empty carriages; opened the door of one of them, as if to look after something that he had left behind, and detected Mr. Bashwood making for the cab-rank on the opposite side of the platform.
"Should I be wrong," she asked, suddenly suspending the conversation which she had thus far persistently restricted to the subject of Midwinter's walking tour, "if I guessed that you have something on your mind something which neither my tea nor my talk can charm away? Are men as curious as women? Is the something Me?"
The same day, all his personal possessions were collected and arranged in his mother's room in Midwinter's presence, and with Midwinter's assistance given to the work.
"You are looking, I suppose, for somebody else? Have you heard from Allan? Is he on his way home again already?" The inquiry about Allan, though it would naturally have suggested itself to any one in Midwinter's position at that moment, added to Mr. Bashwood's confusion. Not knowing how else to extricate himself from the critical position in which he was placed, he took refuge in simple denial.
I was his creditor for a month's salary, and he wouldn't write a line of my testimonial until I had first promised to forgive him the debt. Three days afterward he died, enjoying to the last the happiness of having overreached his shop-man. 'Aha! he whispered, when the doctor formally summoned me to take leave of him, 'I got you cheap! Was Ozias Midwinter's stick as cruel as that? I think not.
She turned away petulantly, and walked back by herself to the cottage. "She is very young," said Miss Gwilt, appealing with a smile to Midwinter's forbearance; "and, as you must see for yourself, sir, she is a spoiled child."
"Don't try me too hard, Midwinter, I have a temper to lose as well as you." He stopped, struggling with himself. The torture of passion in Midwinter's face, from which a less simple and less generous nature might have recoiled in horror, touched Allan suddenly with an artless distress, which, at that moment, was little less than sublime.
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