"Good-night," whispered Varbarriere, looking in the General's blue eye with his own full and steady gaze.
"I know you'll remember your promise," said he.
"You must appear--your _manner_, mind--just as usual. Nothing to alarm--you may defeat all else."
Varbarriere pressed his hand encouragingly. It felt like death.
"Don't fear me," said General Lennox. "We'll see--we'll see, sir; good-bye."
He spoke in a low, short, resolute tone, almost defiant; but looked very ill. Varbarriere had never taken leave of a man on the drop, but thought that this must be like it.
He beckoned to him as the General moved toward the dressing-room door, and made an earnest signal of silence. Lennox nodded, applied the key, and Varbarriere was gone.
General Lennox opened the door suddenly, and stood in the green chamber, holding his candle above his temple, and staring with a rather wild countenance and a gathered brow to the further end of the room. A candle burned on the table, and the Bible lay beside it. No one was there but the inmate of the bed, who sat up with a scared face. He locked the door in silence, and put the key in his pocket.
"Who's there?--who is it? O my God! Arthur, is it you?" she cried. It was not a welcome. It was as if she had seen a ghost--but she smiled.
"You're well? quite well? and happy? no doubt happy?" said Lennox, setting down his candle on the table near the bed, "and glad to see me?"
"Yes, Arthur; Arthur, what's the matter? You're ill--_are_ you ill?"
"Ho! no, very well, quite well--very well indeed."
There was that in his look and manner that told her she was ruined. She froze with a horror she had never dreamed of before.
"There's something, Arthur--there is--you won't tell me."
"That's strange, and _you_ tell _me_ everything."
"What do you _mean_, sir? Oh, Arthur, what _do_ you mean?"
"I was afraid you were angry, and I've done nothing to vex you--nothing. You looked so angry--it's so unreasonable and odd of you. But I am glad to see you, though you don't seem glad to see me. You've been a long time away, Arthur, in London, very long. I hope all your business is settled, I hope. And I'm very glad to hear you're not ill--indeed I am. Why are you vexed?"
"Vexed! ho! I'm vexed, am I? that's odd."