Page:Braddon--Wyllard's weird.djvu/225

Rh Bothwell told his news gladly, gaily.

"She is coming the day after to-morrow," he said, "and I am to be banished, like Romeo. But I am not afraid of Romeo's ill-luck. You won't give my Juliet a sleeping potion, and bury her alive while I am away, will you? I have taken two rooms in a cottage at Trevena, with an old goody who is to do for me. That will be ever so much cheaper than the inn; and you know that in my position I ought to be economical."

"You ought not to make yourself uncomfortable for the sake of a few pounds."

"Ah, that is your spendthrift's argument. He never can understand that he ought to save a few pounds; and so he dies a pauper; while the man who has a proper respect for pounds—and pence, even—blossoms into a millionaire. I shall be very comfortable with my goody. I shall be out all day, superintending the builder. I shall live upon chops and porter; and I shall sleep like a top every night, in a dear little bedroom smelling of lavender. My goody is clean to a fault. She cast an evil eye at my boots as I went up-stairs. All the articles of furniture in her rooms are veiled with crochet-work, as if the wood were too precious to be exposed to the light. But how grave you are looking, Dora! Has Wyllard been any worse to-day?"

"No; he has been much the same—a sad monotony of suffering. It was of you I was thinking, Bothwell. I saw some news in the county paper which I know will grieve you."

"There has been no accident between Launceston and Dawlish, has there?" gasped Bothwell, starting up from his chair; "the train got back all right—"

"You foolish boy! If there had been an accident, how do you suppose I could hear of it?" exclaimed his cousin, smiling at his vehemence. "How like a lover to imagine that any ill news must needs be about your betrothed, though you only left her three hours ago! No, Bothwell, my bad news concerns an old friend of yours, General Harborough."

"What of General Harborough?" asked Bothwell anxiously.

"The announcement of his death is in the county paper."

"His death? Impossible! Why, I met him less than ten days ago. He seemed hale and hearty as ever."

"He caught a severe cold at the funeral of a friend, and died of bronchitis after a very short illness. Poor Bothwell! I can sympathise with your sorrow for so staunch a friend. I have often heard you say how good he was to you in India."

Dora had heard of General Harborough only as an Indian friend of her cousin's. She knew of Lady Valeria's existence, and that was all. No rumour of Bothwell's flirtation with that lady had ever reached her ears. She did not know that Bothwell's frequent journeys to Plymouth had been on Lady