Robert Audley drew his chair nearer to that of Mr.
Talboys, and commenced a minutely detailed account
of all that had occurred to George from the time of
his arrival in England to the hour of his disappearance,
as well as all that had occurred since his disappearance
in any way touching upon that particular subject.
Harcourt Talboys listened with demonstrative attention,
now and then interrupting the speaker to ask some
magisterial kind of question. Clara Talboys never
once lifted her face from her clasped hands.
The hands of the clock pointed to a quarter past eleven
when Robert began his story. The clock struck
twelve as he finished.
He had carefully suppressed the names of his uncle
and his uncle’s wife in relating the circumstances
in which they had been concerned.
“Now, sir,” he said, when the story had
been told, “I await your decision. You
have heard my reasons for coming to this terrible
conclusion. In what manner do these reasons influence
you?”
“They don’t in any way turn me from my
previous opinion,” answered Mr. Harcourt Talboys,
with the unreasoning pride of an obstinate man.
“I still think, as I thought before, that my
son is alive, and that his disappearance is a conspiracy
against myself. I decline to become the victim
of that conspiracy,”
“And you tell me to stop?” asked Robert,
solemnly.
“I tell you only this: If you go on, you
go on for your own satisfaction, not for mine.
I see nothing in what you have told me to alarm me
for the safety of—your friend.”
“So be it, then!” exclaimed Robert, suddenly;
“from this moment I wash my hands of this business.
From this moment the purpose of my life shall be to
forget it.”
He rose as he spoke, and took his hat from the table
on which he had placed it. He looked at Clara
Talboys. Her attitude had never changed since
she had dropped her face upon her hands. “Good
morning, Mr. Talboys,” he said, gravely.
“God grant that you are right. God grant
that I am wrong. But I fear a day will come when
you will have reason to regret your apathy respecting
the untimely fate of your only son.”
He bowed gravely to Mr. Harcourt Talboys and to the
lady, whose face was hidden by her hands.
He lingered for a moment looking at Miss Talboys,
thinking that she would look up, that she would make
some sign, or show some desire to detain him.
Mr. Talboys rang for the emotionless servant, who
led Robert off to the hall-door with the solemnity
of manner which would have been in perfect keeping
had he been leading him to execution.
“She is like her father,” thought Mr.
Audley, as he glanced for the last time at the drooping
head. “Poor George, you had need of one
friend in this world, for you have had very few to
love you.”
CLARA.
