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On the following day the day of Julie's journey Delafield, who was anxiously awaiting the return of his two companions from their interview with the great physician they were consulting, was strolling up the Rue de la Paix, just before luncheon, when, outside the Hôtel Mirabeau, he ran into a man whom he immediately perceived to be Warkworth.
The touch of the old man's hand upon her hair roused in her a first recoil, a first shattering doubt of the impulse which had carried her to Paris. Since Delafield left her in the early dawn she had been pouring out a broken, passionate heart in a letter to Warkworth. No misgivings while she was writing it as to the all-sufficing legitimacy of love!
In private life he's one of the most self-indulgent dogs alive. And yet he's ashamed of the sister and her husband, and turns his back on them whenever he can. Oh, he's not a person of nice feeling, is Warkworth but, mark my words, he'll be one of the most successful men in the army." There was one side.
What a frank and soldierly countenance! a little roughly cut, with a strong mouth slightly underhung, and a dogged chin, the whole lit by eyes that were the chosen homes of truth, humanity, and will. Presently she discovered, as they drew their chairs a little back from the circle, that she, too, was to be encouraged to talk about Warkworth.
A distant voice in the hall. She moved to the fire, and stood quietly reading an evening paper. "Captain Warkworth would be glad if you would see him for a few minutes, miss. He would like to ask you himself about her ladyship." "Please ask him to come in, Hutton." Hutton effaced himself, and the young man entered, Then Julie raised her voice.
What was the state of the case now no one exactly knew; though it was shrewdly suspected that the engagement was only dormant. The child was known to have been in love with him; in two years more she would be of age; her fortune was enormous, and Warkworth was a poor and ambitious man.
"These prison shades are dark and cold, But darker far than they The shadow of a sorrow old Is on mine heart alway. "For since the day when Warkworth wood Closed o'er my steed and I, An alien from my name and blood, A weed cast out to die; "When, looking back, in sunset light I saw her turret gleam, And from its window, far and white, Her sign of farewell stream;
Julie went up to her, not angrily, but rather with a pleading humility. The two women held a rapid colloquy in low tones Madame Bornier remonstrating, Julie softly getting her way. Then Madame Bornier returned to her work, and Julie went to the drawing-room. Warkworth sprang up as she entered. Both paused and wavered. Then he went up to her, and roughly, irresistibly, drew her into his arms.
Warkworth drew back, conscious of a disagreeable shock. He had been talking in generalities, giving away the future with that fluent prodigality, that easy prophecy which costs so little. What did she mean? "Delafield?" he cried. And he waited for her reply which lingered in a tense and growing eagerness.
As he bore himself now towards her, in this hour of her grief for Warkworth, so, perhaps, would their future be. Yet the claims of kindred were strong. He suffered much inward distress as he thought of the father and son, and their old touching dependence upon him. Chudleigh, as Jacob knew well, was himself incurably ill. Could he long survive his poor boy?
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