Part 48 (1/2)

A great sob broke from Antony's throat.

”Ah, don't, dear heart, don't,” cried the d.u.c.h.essa, drawing his head against her breast.

”Will the new agent agree to live at the Manor House?” asked the d.u.c.h.essa, after a long, long interval composed of many silences though some few words. ”Will his pride allow him to accept a small material benefit for a short time, seeing what a great amount of material benefit will be his to bestow in the future?”

Antony laughed.

”I told Mr. Danver I wouldn't use a penny of his money for myself,” he said.

”Oh!” She raised her eyebrows in half comical dismay, which hid, however, a hint of real anxiety. Would his pride accept where it did not bestow in like kind? For other reason than this the bestowal would signify not at all.

”You mind?” he asked smiling.

She looked straight at him.

”Not the smallest atom,” she declared, utterly relieved, since there was no shadow of false pride in the laughing eyes which met her own.

”Ah, but,” said Antony slowly, and very, very deliberately, ”I never said I would not use it for my wife.”

EPILOGUE

An old man was sitting in the library of the big grey house. A shaded reading-lamp stood on a small table near his elbow. Its light was thrown on an open book lying near it, and on the carved arms of the oak chair in which the man was sitting. It shone clearly on his bloodless old hands, on his parchment-like face and white hair. A log fire was burning in a great open hearth on his right. For the rest, the room was a place of shadows, deepening to gloom in the distant corners, a gloom emphasized by the one small circle of brilliant light, and the red glow of the fire.