but for this the force of habit and routine would have
"Well, don't excite yourself so. My poor Edith, some day or other you will be sorry you ever said a word against that amiable and most unfortunate girl."
He said this so sadly and solemnly that Mrs. Little's anger fell directly, and they both sat silent a long time.
"Guy," said Mrs. Little, "tell me the truth. Has my son done anything wrong--anything rash? It was strange he should leave England without telling me. He told Dr. Amboyne. Oh, there is some mystery here. If I did not know you so well, I should say there is some deceit going on in this house. There IS-- You hang your head. I cannot bear to give you pain, so I will ask you no more questions. But--"
There was a world of determination in that "but."
She retired early to bed; to bed, but not to rest.
In the silence of the night she recalled every thing, every look, every word that had seemed a little strange to her, and put them all together. She could not sleep; vague misgivings crawled over her agitated mind. At length she slumbered from sheer exhaustion. She rose early; yet, when she came down-stairs, Raby was just starting for Woodbine Villa.
Mrs. Little asked him to take her into Hillsborough. He looked uneasy, but complied, and, at her desire, set her down in the market-place of Hillsborough. As soon as he was out of sight she took a fly, and directed the driver to take her to Mr. Little's works. "I mean," said she, "the works where Mr. Bayne is."
She found Mr. Bayne in his counting-house, dressed in deep mourning.