Now, having caught these words, and hearing him advance, Caroline, if there was a door within the dining room, would glide through it and disappear. She feels caught, hemmed in; she dreads her unexpected presence may annoy him. A second since she would have flown to him; that second past, she would flee from him. She cannot. There is no way of escape. The dining room has but one door, through which now enters her cousin. The look of troubled surprise she expected to see in his face has appeared there, has shocked her, and is gone. She has stammered a sort of apology —
“I only left the drawing room a minute for a little quiet.”
There was something so diffident and downcast in the air and tone with which she said this, anyone might perceive that some saddening change had lately passed over her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerful self-possession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how she had formerly been accustomed to meet him with gentle ardour and hopeful confidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning had operated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with effect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill yard, amidst busy occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on the table, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was about to follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go; whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kept her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.
“Shall I tell my uncle you are here?” asked she, still in the same subdued voice.
“No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my messenger?”
“Yes, Robert.”
“Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of one, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to the same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson’s dressing shop, and that I hope to have him in custody tomorrow. You can remember that?”
“Oh yes!” These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than ever; and as she said them she shook her head slightly and sighed. “Will you prosecute him?”