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lted her.
A tap at the door caused her to rise, trembling. She remembered that by this time her mother must be aware of the extraordinary disclosure, and that a new scene of wretched agitation had to be gone through.
'Sidwell!'
It was Mrs. Warricombe's voice, and the door opened.
'Sidwell!--What does all this mean? I don't understand half that Buckland has been telling me.'
The speaker's face was mottled, and she stood panting, a hand pressed against her side.
'How very, very imprudent we have been! How wrong of father not to have made inquiries! To think that such a man should have sat at our table!'
'Sit down, mother; don't be so distressed,' said Sidwell, calmly. 'It will all very soon be settled.'
'Of course not a word must be said to anyone. How very fortunate that we shall be in London till the summer! Of course he must leave Exeter.'
'I have no doubt he will. Let us talk as little of it as possible, mother. We shall go back to-morrow'----
'This afternoon! We will go back with Buckland. That is decided. I couldn't sleep here another night.'
'We must remain till to-morrow,' Sidwell replied, with quiet determination.
'Why? What reason can there be?'
Mrs. Warricombe's voice was suspended by a horrible surmise.
'Of course we shall go to-day, Sidwell,' she continued, in nervous haste. 'To think of that man having the impudence to call and sit talking with you! If I could have dreamt'----
'Mother,' said Sidwell, gravely, 'I am obliged to see Mr. Peak, either this evening or to-morrow morning.'
'To--tosee him----? Sidwell! What can you mean?'
'I have a reason for wishing to hear from his own lips the whole truth.'
'But we know the whole truth!--What can you be thinking of, dear? Who is this Mr. Peak that you should ask him to come and see you, underany circumstances?'
It would never have occurred to Sidwell to debate with her mot