Why? Simply because he was Mr. Thomasson, and it was not in his nature
to do the thing that lay before him until he had considered whether it
might not profit him to do something else. In this case the bare
statement that Mr. Dunborough, and not Sir George, was the author of the
outrage, would go for little with her. If he proceeded to his reasons he
might convince her; but he would also fix himself with a fore-knowledge
of the danger--a fore-knowledge which he had not imparted to her, and
which must sensibly detract from the merit of the service he had already
and undoubtedly performed.
This was a risk; and there was a farther consideration. Why give Mr.
Dunborough new ground for complaint by discovering him? True, at Bristol
she would learn the truth. But if she did not reach Bristol? If they
were overtaken midway? In that case the tutor saw possibilities, if he
kept his mouth shut--possibilities of profit at Mr. Dunborough's hands.
In intervals between fits of alarm--when the carriage seemed to be about
to halt--he turned these things over. He could hear the girl weeping in
her corner, quietly, but in a heart-broken manner; and continually,
while he thought and she wept, and an impenetrable curtain of darkness
hid the one from the other, the chaise held on its course up-hill and
down-hill, now bumping and rattling behind flying horses, and now
rumbling and straining up Yatesbury Downs.
At last he broke the silence. 'What makes you think,' he said, 'that it
is Sir George has done this?' She did not answer or stop weeping for a while. Then, 'He was to meet me
at sunset, at the Corner,' she said. 'Who else knew that I should be
there? Tell me that.' 'But if he is at the bottom of this, where is he?' he hazarded. 'If he
would play the villain with you--' 'He would play the thief,' she cried passionately, 'as he has played the
hypocrite. Oh, it is vile! vile!' 'But--I don't understand,' Mr. Thomasson stammered; he was willing to
hear all he could.
'His fortune, his lands, all he has in the world are mine!' she cried.
'Mine! And he goes this way to recover them! But I could forgive him
that, ah, I could forgive him that, but I cannot forgive him--' 'What?' he said.
'His love!' she cried fiercely. 'That I will never forgive him! Never!' He knew that she spoke, as she had wept, more freely for the darkness.
He fancied that she was writhing on her seat, that she was tearing her
handkerchief with her hands. 'But--it may not be he,' he said after a
silence broken only by the rumble of wheels and the steady trampling of
the horses.