Entering the room, he found Manston sitting in the chair which had been occupied by Cytherea on Edward's visit, three hours earlier.
Before Owen had spoken, Manston arose, and stepping past him closed the door. His face appeared harassed--much more troubled than the slight circumstance which had as yet come to his knowledge seemed to account for.
Manston could form no reason for Owen's presence, but intuitively linked it with Cytherea's seclusion. 'Altogether this is most unseemly,' he said, 'whatever it may mean.' 'Don't think there is meant anything unfriendly by my coming here,' said Owen earnestly; 'but listen to this, and think if I could do otherwise than come.' He took from his pocket the confession of Chinney the porter, as hastily written out by the vicar, and read it aloud. The aspects of Manston's face whilst he listened to the opening words were strange, dark, and mysterious enough to have justified suspicions that no deceit could be too complicated for the possessor of such impulses, had there not overridden them all, as the reading went on, a new and irrepressible expression--one unmistakably honest. It was that of unqualified amazement in the steward's mind at the news he heard.
Owen looked up and saw it. The sight only confirmed him in the belief he had held throughout, in antagonism to Edward's suspicions.
There could no longer be a shadow of doubt that if the first Mrs.
Manston lived, her husband was ignorant of the fact. What he could have feared by his ghastly look at first, and now have ceased to fear, it was quite futile to conjecture.
'Now I do not for a moment doubt your complete ignorance of the whole matter; you cannot suppose for an instant that I do,' said Owen when he had finished reading. 'But is it not best for both that Cytherea should come back with me till the matter is cleared up? In fact, under the circumstances, no other course is left open to me than to request it.' Whatever Manston's original feelings had been, all in him now gave way to irritation, and irritation to rage. He paced up and down the room till he had mastered it; then said in ordinary tones-'Certainly, I know no more than you and others know--it was a gratuitous unpleasantness in you to say you did not doubt me. Why should you, or anybody, have doubted me?' 'Well, where is my sister?' said Owen.
'Locked in the next room.' His own answer reminded Manston that Cytherea must, by some inscrutable means, have had an inkling of the event.