But he was puzzled still more that night, when by the latest post a
note came--
"From Stangrave!" said Claude. "Why, in the name of all wonders!"--and
he read:--
"Good-bye. I am just starting for the Continent, on sudden and urgent
business. What my destination is I hardly can tell you yet. You will
hear from me in the course of the summer."
Claude's countenance fell, and the note fell likewise. Sabina snatched
it up, read it, and gave La Cordifiamma a look which made her spring
from the sofa, and snatch it in turn.
She read it through, with trembling hands, and blanching cheeks, and
then dropped fainting upon the floor.
They laid her on the sofa, and while they were recovering her, Claude
told Sabina the only clue which he had to the American's conduct,
namely, that afternoon's conversation.
Sabina shook her head over it; for to her, also, the American's
explanation had suggested itself. Was Marie Thurnall's wife? Or did
she--it was possible, however painful--stand to him in some less
honourable relation, which she would fain forget now, in a new passion
for Stangrave? For that Marie loved Stangrave, Sabina knew well
enough.
The doubt was so ugly that it must be solved; and when she had got the
poor thing safe into her bedroom she alluded to it as gently as she
could.
Marie sprang up in indignant innocence.
"He! Whatever he may be to others, I know not: but to me he has been
purity and nobleness itself--a brother, a father! Yes; if I had no
other reason for trusting him, I should love him for that alone; that
however tempted he may have been, and Heaven knows he was tempted,
he could respect the honour of his friend, though that friend lay
sleeping in a soldier's grave ten thousand miles away.
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