Randal refused to let him go at all.  “You will stay here with me; and if I happen to be away, there will be somebody in the house, who is almost as fond of you as I am.”  He mentioned the name of one of the old servants at Mount Morven, who had attached himself to Randal after the breakup of the family.  “And now rest,” he said, “and let me put this cushion under your head.”

Herbert answered:  “It’s like being at home again”—­and composed himself to rest.

Chapter XL.

Keep Your Temper.

On the next day but one, Randal arranged his departure for Sydenham, so as to arrive at the hotel an hour before the time appointed for the dinner.  His prospects of success, in pleading for a favorable reception of his brother’s message, were so uncertain that he refrained—­in fear of raising hopes which he might not be able to justify—­from taking Herbert into his confidence.  No one knew on what errand he was bent, when he left the house.  As he took his place in the carriage, the newspaper boy appeared at the window as usual.  The new number of a popular weekly journal had that day been published.  Randal bought it.

After reading one or two of the political articles, he arrived at the columns specially devoted to “Fashionable Intelligence.”  Caring nothing for that sort of news, he was turning over the pages in search of the literary and dramatic articles, when a name not unfamiliar to him caught his eye.  He read the paragraph in which it appeared.

“The charming widow, Mrs. Norman, is, we hear, among the distinguished guests staying at Buck’s Hotel.  It is whispered that the lady is to be shortly united to a retired naval officer of Arctic fame; now better known, perhaps, as one of our leading philanthropists.”

The allusion to Bennydeck was too plain to be mistaken.  Randal looked again at the first words in the paragraph.  “The charming widow!” Was it possible that this last word referred to Catherine?  To suppose her capable of assuming to be a widow, and—­if the child asked questions—­of telling Kitty that her father was dead, was, in Randal’s estimation, to wrong her cruelly.  With his own suspicions steadily contradicting him, he arrived at the hotel, obstinately believing that “the charming widow” would prove to be a stranger.

A first disappointment was in store for him when he entered the house.  Mrs. Norman and her little daughter were out driving with a friend, and were expected to return in good time for dinner.  Mrs. Presty was at home; she was reported to be in the garden of the hotel.

Randal found her comfortably established in a summerhouse, with her knitting in her hands, and a newspaper on her lap.  She advanced to meet him, all smiles and amiability.  “How nice of you to come so soon!” she began.  Her keen penetration discovered something in his face which checked the gayety of her welcome.  “You don’t mean to say that you are going to spoil our pleasant little dinner by bringing bad news!” she added, looking at him suspiciously.