Her fears showed themselves in many ways. When she read of dark and
vengeful deeds in her newspaper, she thought of her old master, and how,
in such or such an act, his fatal hand might reveal itself. He might lie
in wait for Valentine some night on the dark road between Charlottenburgh
and the distant railway-station. She could fancy the young wife's agony
of terror as the night wore on, and her husband did not return; the
unspeakable horror that would come over all that happy household when the
news came that its young master had been found on the lonely road slain
by some unknown hand. Open utterance to her fears she was too wise to
give; but she warned Mr. Hawkehurst of the dangers on that dark road, and
besought him to arm himself with a trusty bludgeon wherewith to meet and
vanquish any chance assailant. Valentine laughed at her anxious warning;
but when Charlotte took up the cry he was fain to content her by the
purchase of a sturdy stick, which he swung cheerily to and fro as he
walked homewards in the gloaming, planning a chapter in his new book, and
composing powerful and eloquent sentences which eluded his mental grasp
when he tried to reduce his evening reverie to pen-and-ink.
"When the air blows fresh across the common, and the distant lights
twinkle, and the bright stars peep out in the pale-yellow sky, my
language flows as it never does when I sit at my desk, Lotta," he said to
his wife.
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