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Updated: May 16, 2025
Lastly, I remembered afterward that she wore a thick black veil, a black bonnet, a black silk dress, and a red Paisley shawl. I feel all the importance of your possessing some better means of identifying her than I can give you. But unhappily " He stopped. Midwinter was leaning eagerly across the table, and Midwinter's hand was laid suddenly on his arm.
Midwinter's abrupt departure had vexed him; and Major Milroy's reception of his inquiries relating to Miss Gwilt weighed unpleasantly on his mind. Since his visit to the cottage, he had felt impatient and ill at ease, for the first time in his life, with everybody who came near him.
Knowing Midwinter's sight to be better than his own, he called out, "Come up here, and see if there's a fisherman within hail of us." Hearing no reply, he looked back. Midwinter had followed him as far as the cabin, and had stopped there. He called again in a louder voice, and beckoned impatiently. Midwinter had heard the call, for he looked up, but still he never stirred from his place.
His swarthy face began to look, to Allan's eyes, unaccountably pale in the moonlight. "Did they mention what trade she was engaged in?" "Yes; the timber trade." As Allan gave that answer, Midwinter's lean brown hand clutched him fast by the shoulder, and Midwinter's teeth chattered in his head like the teeth of a man struck by a sudden chill.
Allan's instinct had guessed, and the guiding influence stood revealed of Midwinter's interest in Miss Gwilt. "What right have you to say that?" he asked, with raised voice and threatening eyes. "I told you," said Allan, simply, "when I thought I was sweet on her myself.
Midwinter suddenly looked up again, his cheeks turning ashy pale, and his glittering black eyes fixed full on Allan's face. "You love her," he said. "Does she love you?" "You won't think me vain?" returned Allan. "I told you yesterday I had had private opportunities with her " Midwinter's eyes dropped again to the crumbs on his plate. "I understand," he interposed, quickly.
The plan thus proposed, being certainly the simplest and the safest, was adopted with Midwinter's full concurrence; and here the business discussion would have ended, if the everlasting Mr. Bashwood had not turned up again in the conversation, and prolonged it in an entirely new direction.
Get a cab and come with us." He waited, to see whether Mr. Bashwood would comply. Having been strictly ordered, when Allan did arrive, not to lose sight of him, and having, in his own interests, Midwinter's unexpected appearance to explain to Miss Gwilt, the steward had no choice but to comply. In sullen submission he did as he had been told.
The first days of April came, and on the seventh of the month there was a letter for Allan at last on the breakfast-table. He snatched it up, looked at the address, and threw the letter down again impatiently. The handwriting was not Midwinter's. Allan finished his breakfast before he cared to read what his correspondent had to say to him. The meal over, young Armadale lazily opened the letter.
As the words passed his lips the door opened, and Midwinter appeared again. "We haven't shaken hands," he said, abruptly. "God bless you, Allan! We'll talk of it to-morrow. Good-night." Allan stood alone at the window, looking out at the pouring rain. He felt ill at ease, without knowing why. "Midwinter's ways get stranger and stranger," he thought.
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