I honestly believe that Miss Poynton is safe, whatever may have
happened to her brother, and I believe that you will serve her best by
your temporary absence."
Duncombe stood for a moment wrapped in thought. The last few months had
aged him strangely. The strenuous days and nights of anxious thought had
left their mark in deep lines upon his face. He looked out of the
window of Spencer's room, and his eyes saw little of the busy street
below. He was alone once more with this strange, terrified girl upon the
hillside, with the wind in their faces, and making wild havoc in her
hair. He was with her in different moods in the little room behind his
library, when the natural joy of her young life had for the moment
reasserted itself. He was with her at their parting. He saw half the
fearful regret with which she had left his care and accepted the
intervention of the Marquise. Stirring times these had been for a man of
his quiet temperament, whom matters of sentiment and romance had passed
lightly by, and whose passions had never before been touched by the
finger of fire. And now he was going back to an empty life--a life at
least empty of joy, save the hope of seeing her again.
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