"
The lynx-eyed Warman, prying and peering about, had spied out Clarissa's
letter to her husband, half hidden among the frivolities on the
dressing-table. Mr. Granger pounced upon it eagerly, full of hope. It might
tell him all he wanted to know.
It told him nothing. The words were not consistent with guilt, unless
Clarissa were the very falsest of women. But had she not been the falsest?
Had she not deceived him grossly, unpardonably? Alas, he was already trying
to make excuses for her--trying to believe her innocent, innocent of what
society calls sin--yes, she might be that. But had he not seen her kneeling
beside her lover? Had she not owned that she loved him? She had; and the
memory of her words were poison to Daniel Granger.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XLIV.
UNDER THE SHADOW OF ST. GUDULE.
It was about half an hour before noon on the following day when Clarissa
arrived at Brussels, and drove straight to her brother's lodging, which was
in an obscure street under the shadow of St. Gudule. Austin was at work
in a room opening straight from the staircase--a bare, shabby-looking
chamber--and looked up from his easel with profound astonishment on
beholding Mrs. Granger with her maid and baby.
"Why, Clary, what in the name of all that's wonderful, brings you to
Brussels?" he exclaimed.
"I have come to live with you for a little while, Austin, if you will let
me," she answered quietly.
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