came a reaction in his feelings, with a heightened sense of loyalty
to his benefactor. For, freed of any illusion or youthful fancy now, a
purely unselfish gratitude to the unknown man filled his heart. In the
lapse of his sentiment he clung the more closely to this one honest
romance of his life.
One afternoon, at the close of business, he was a little astonished to
receive a message from Mr. Dingwall, the deputy manager, that he wished
to see him in his private office. He was still more astonished when Mr.
Dingwall, after offering him a chair, stood up with his hands under his
coat tails before the fireplace, and, with a hesitancy half reserved,
half courteous, but wholly English, said,--
"I--er--would be glad, Mr. Trent, if you would--er--give me the pleasure
of your company at dinner to-morrow."
Randolph, still amazed, stammered his acceptance.
"There will be--er--a young lady in whom you were--er--interested some
time ago. Er--Miss Avondale."
Randolph, feeling he was coloring, and uncertain whether he should speak
of having met her since, contented himself with expressing his delight.
"In fact," continued Mr. Dingwall, clearing his throat as if he were
also clearing his conscience of a tremendous secret, "she--er--mentioned
your name. There is Sir William Dornton coming also. Sir William
has recently succeeded his elder brother, who--er--it seems, was the
gentleman you were inquiring about when you first came here, and who,
it is now ascertained, was drowned in the bay a few months ago. In
fact--er--it is probable that you were the last one who saw him alive.
I thought I would tell you," continued Mr. Dingwall, settling his chin
more comfortably in his checked cravat, "in case Sir William should
speak of him to you."
Randolph was staggered. The abrupt revelation of his benefactor's name
and fate, casually coupled with an invitation to dinner, shocked and
confounded him. Perhaps Mr. Dingwall noticed it and misunderstood the
cause, for he added in parenthetical explanation: "Yes, the man whose
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