Page:Anthony John (IA anthonyjohn00jero).pdf/97

 He seemed to know that all was over. He lingered for a little while, but there was no heart in him. And one morning they found him dead.

A friendship had grown up between Anthony and young Mowbray. It had been chiefly of Edward Mowbray's seeking, but Anthony had been attracted by Edward's gentleness and kindness. Mowbray's father had also taken a liking to him and he came to be a frequent visitor at The Priory.

Mr. Mowbray was a fine, handsome gentleman of about fifty, fonder of pleasure than of business it was said. He rode to hounds and prided himself on being one of the best shots in the county. He was a widower. Gossip whispered of an unhappy marriage, for the lady—of neglect and infidelities. But this may not have been true, for Mr. Mowbray always spoke of his wife with enthusiasm, and often tears would come into his eyes. Her portrait by Orchardson hung in the dining-room facing Mr. Mowbray's chair: an arresting face, though hardly beautiful, the forehead being too high and narrow. It was in the eyes that the attraction lay. They seemed almost to speak. Mr. Mowbray, during a lull in the conversation, would sometimes raise his glass and drink to her in silence. He was fond of his fine old port, and so were most of his many friends. There were only two children, Edward