Blind Love

For a month, Mountjoy remained in his cottage on the shores of the

Solway Firth, superintending the repairs.

His correspondence with Iris was regularly continued; and, for the

first time in his experience of her, was a cause of disappointment to

him.

Her replies revealed an incomprehensible change in her manner of

writing, which became more and more marked in each succeeding instance.

Notice it as he might in his own letters, no explanation followed on

the part of his correspondent. She, who had so frankly confided her

joys and sorrows to him in past days, now wrote with a reserve which

seemed only to permit the most vague and guarded allusion to herself.

The changes in the weather; the alternation of public news that was

dull, and public news that was interesting; the absence of her father

abroad, occasioned by doubt of the soundness of his investments in

foreign securities; vague questions relating to Hugh's new place of

abode, which could only have proceeded from a preoccupied mind--these

were the topics on which Iris dwelt, in writing to her faithful old

friend. It was hardly possible to doubt that something must have

happened, which she had reasons--serious reasons, as it seemed only too

natural to infer--for keeping concealed from Mountjoy. Try as he might

to disguise it from himself, he now knew how dear, how hopelessly dear,

she was to him by the anxiety that he suffered, and by the jealous

sense of injury which defied his self-command. His immediate

superintendence of the workmen at the cottage was no longer necessary.

Leaving there a representative whom he could trust, he resolved to

answer his last letter, received from Iris, in person.

The next day he was in London.

Calling at the house, he was informed that Miss Henley was not at home,

and that it was impossible to say with certainty when she might return.

While he was addressing his inquiries to the servant, Mr. Henley opened

the library door. "Is that you, Mountjoy?" he asked. "Come in: I want

to speak to you."

Short and thick-set, with a thin-lipped mouth, a coarsely-florid

complexion, and furtive greenish eyes; hard in his manner, and harsh in

his voice; Mr. Henley was one of the few heartless men, who are

innocent of deception on the surface: he was externally a person who

inspired, at first sight, feelings of doubt and dislike. His manner

failed to show even a pretence of being glad to see Hugh. What he had

to say, he said walking up and down the room, and scratching his

bristly iron-gray hair from time to time. Those signs of restlessness

indicated, to those who knew him well, that he had a selfish use to

make of a fellow-creature, and failed to see immediately how to reach

the end in view.