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It chanced that the morning post had brought Mr. Warricombe a letter from Godwin Peak. It was a reply to one that he had written with Christmas greetings; a kindness natural in him, for he had remembered that the young man was probably hard at work in his lonely lodgings. He spoke of it privately to his wife. 'A very good letter thoughtful and cheerful.
A little more strain, and she would be on the point of tears, a weakness she was resolute to avoid. 'Let me think quietly for an hour or two, she said, moving away. 'It's quite certain that I must stay here till to-morrow. When Buckland has gone, we can talk again. 'But, Sidwell' 'If you insist, I must leave the house, and find a refuge somewhere else. Mrs. Warricombe tossed her head.
Thus long he had waited, through years of hungry manhood, for the look, the tone, which were in harmony with his native sensibilities. Fanny Warricombe was but an undeveloped girl, yet he valued her friendship above the passionate attachment of any woman bred on a lower social plane. Had it been possible, he would have kissed her fingers with purest reverence.
And less than a fortnight after the meeting at the theatre, Christian made known to his sister that Warricombe and he had had a second conversation, this time uninterrupted. 'He inquired after you, Marcella, and really I had no choice but to ask him to call here. I hardly think he'll come. He's not the kind of man I care for though liberal enough, and all that.
You still care for that kind of thing? 'Most certainly. How can you doubt it? Buckland smiled, and gave no other reply. 'Ask Fanny to show you the way when you care to go. And he left the room. Sidwell had fallen into conversation with Mr. Moorhouse. Miss Moorhouse, Mrs. Warricombe, and Louis were grouped in animated talk.
The tones had carried him back to Whitelaw; the face disturbed that illusion, but substituted a reality which threw him into tremor. His involuntary gaze was met with one of equal intensity. A man of his own years, but in splendid health and with bright eyes that looked enjoyment of life, suddenly addressed him. 'Godwin Peak surely ? 'Buckland Warricombe, no less surely.
Her orthodoxy seemed as unimpeachable as Mrs Warricombe could desire, yet as she grew into womanhood, a curiosity, which in no way disturbed the tenor of her quietly contented life, led her to examine various forms of religion, ancient and modern, and even systems of philosophy which professed to establish a moral code, independent of supernatural faith.
'Needless, thank you, returned Godwin, with a smile in which the vanity of an author had its part. Had Marcella betrayed him? He had supposed she knew nothing of this article, but Earwaker had perhaps spoken of it to Moxey before receiving the injunction of secrecy. On the other hand, it might be Earwaker himself from whom Warricombe had derived his information.
At the time of her marriage she had no charms of person more remarkable than rosy comeliness and the symmetry of supple limb. As for the nurture of her mind, it had been intrusted to home-governesses of respectable incapacity. Martin Warricombe married her because she was one of a little circle of girls, much alike as to birth and fortune, with whom he had grown up in familiar communication.
Though with so little of ascertained fact to guide her, Marcella interpreted the hints afforded by her slight knowledge of the Warricombes with singular accuracy. Precisely as she had imagined, Buckland Warricombe was going about on Peak's track, learning all he could concerning the theological student, forming acquaintance with anyone likely to supplement his discoveries.
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