Taffy watched him for a minute in silence. He was asking himself why
he had come. Well, he had come in a hot fit of indignation, meaning
to face Honoria and force her to take back the insult of her
suspicion. But after all--suppose George were at the bottom of it?
Clearly Sir Henry knew nothing, and in any case could not be asked to
expose his own son. And Honoria? Let be that she would never
believe--that he had no proof, no evidence even--this were a pretty
way of beginning to discharge his debt to her! The terrier thrust a
cold muzzle against his hand. The room was very still. Sir Harry
poured out another glassful and held out the decanter. “Come, you
must drink; I insist!”
Taffy looked up. “Thank you, I will.”
He could now and with a clear conscience. In those quiet moments he
had taken the great resolution. The debt should be paid back, and
with interest; not at five per cent., but at a rate beyond the
creditor’s power of reckoning. For the interest to be guarded for
her should be her continued belief in the man she loved. Yes,
_but if George were innocent?_ Why, then the sacrifice would be
idle; that was all.
He swallowed the wine, and stood up.
“Must you be going? I wanted a chat with you about Oxford,” grumbled
Sir Harry; but noting the lad’s face, how white and drawn it was, he
relented, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t take it too
seriously, my boy. It’ll blow over--it’ll blow over. Honoria likes
you, I know. We’ll see what the trollop says: and if I get a chance
of putting in a good word, you may depend on me.”
He walked with Taffy to the door--good, easy man--and waved a hand
from the porch. On the whole, he was rather glad than not to see his
young friend’s back.
From his smithy window Mendarva spied Taffy coming along the road,
and stepped out on the green to shake hands with him.
“Pleased to see your face, my son! You’ll excuse my not asking
’ee inside; but the fact is”--he jerked his thumb towards the
smithy--“we’ve a-got our troubles in there.”
It came on our youth with something of a shock that the world had
room for any trouble beside his own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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