He took a little time (and a great deal of snuff) before he would say what he thought. When he did speak, he told me I might quite possibly be right in suspecting Anne's husband to be a very abominable person. His keeping himself out of my way was (just as I thought) a suspicious circumstance, to begin with. And then there was the sudden extinguishing of the candles, when I first went in. I thought (and Mrs. Inchbare thought) it was done by the wind. Sir Patrick suspects it was done by the horrid man himself, to prevent me from seeing him when I entered the room. I am firmly persuaded Sir Patrick is right. What do _you_ think?"
"I think we had better go on," said Arnold, with his head down over his book. "We seem to be forgetting Milton."
"How you do worry about Milton! That last bit wasn't as interesting as the other. Is there any love in Paradise Lost?"
"Perhaps we may find some if we go on."
"Very well, then. Go on. And be quick about it."
Arnold was _so_ quick about it that he lost his place. Instead of going on he went back. He read once more:
"In the beginning how the heavens and earth.
Rose out of Chaos or if Sion hill--"
"You read that before," said Blanche.
"I think not."
"I'm sure you did. When you said 'Sion hill' I recollect I thought of the Methodists directly. I couldn't have thought of the Methodists, if you hadn't said 'Sion hill.' It stands to reason."
"I'll try the next page," said Arnold. "I can't have read that before--for I haven't turned over yet."
Blanche threw herself back in her chair, and flung her handkerchief resignedly over her face. "The flies," she explained. "I'm not going to sleep. Try the next page. Oh, dear me, try the next page!"
Arnold proceeded:
"Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view.
Nor the deep tract of hell say first what cause.
Moved our grand parents in that happy state--"
Blanche suddenly threw the handkerchief off again, and sat bolt upright in her chair. "Shut it up," she cried. "I can't bear any more. Leave off, Arnold--leave off!"
"What's, the matter now?"
" 'That happy state,' " said Blanche. "What does 'that happy state' mean? Marriage, of course! And marriage reminds me of Anne. I won't have any more. Paradise Lost is painful. Shut it up. Well, my next question to Sir Patrick was, of course, to know what he thought Anne's husband had done. The wretch had behaved infamously to her in some way. In what way? Was it any thing to do with her marriage? My uncle considered again. He thought it quite possible. Private marriages were dangerous things (he said)--especially in Scotland. He asked me if they had been married in Scotland. I couldn't tell him--I only said, 'Suppose they were? What then?' 'It's barely possible, in that case,' says Sir Patrick, 'that Miss Silvester may be feeling uneasy about her marriage. She may even have reason--or may think she has reason--to doubt whether it is a marriage at all.' "
Arnold started, and looked round at Geoffrey still sitting at the writing-table with his back turned on them. Utterly as Blanche and Sir Patrick were mistaken in their estimate of Anne's position at Craig Fernie, they had drifted, nevertheless, into discussing the very question in which Geoffrey and Miss Silvester were interested--the question of marriage in Scotland. It was impossible in Blanche's presence to tell Geoffrey that he might do well to listen to Sir Patrick's opinion, even at second-hand.
Perhaps the words had found their way to him? perhaps he was listening already, of his own accord?
(He _was_ listening. Blanche's last words had found their way to him, while he was pondering over his half-finished letter to his brother. He waited to hear more--without moving, and with the pen suspended in his hand.)
Blanche proceeded, absently winding her fingers in and out of Arnold's hair as he sat at her feet:
"It flashed on me instantly that Sir Patrick had discovered the truth. Of course I told him so. He laughed, and said I mustn't jump at conclusions We were guessing quite in the dark; and all the distressing things I had noticed at the inn might admit of some totally different explanation. He would have gone on splitting straws in that provoking way the whole morning if I hadn't stopped him. I was strictly logical. I said _I_ had seen Anne, and _he_ hadn't--and that made all the difference. I said, 'Every thing that puzzled and frightened me in the poor darling is accounted for now. The law must, and shall, reach that man, uncle--and I'll pay for it!' I was so much in earnest that I believe I cried a little. What do you think the dear old man did?
He took me on his knee and gave me a kiss; and he said, in the nicest way, that he would adopt my view, for the present, if I would promise not to cry any more; and--wait! the cream of it is to come!--that he would put the view in quite a new light to me as soon as I was composed again. You may imagine how soon I dried my eyes, and what a picture of composure I presented in the course of half a minute. 'Let us take it for granted,' says Sir Patrick, 'that this man unknown has really tried to deceive Miss Silvester, as you and I suppose. I can tell you one thing: it's as likely as not that, in trying to overreach _her,_ he may (without in the least suspecting it) have ended in overreaching himself.' "
(Geoffrey held his breath. The pen dropped unheeded from his fingers. It was coming. The light that his brother couldn't throw on the subject was dawning on it at last!)
Blanche resumed: