Warlock's dead," she answered very quietly.
"Warlock dead!" Uncle Mathew half rose from his chair in his
astonishment. "That fellow dead! Well, I'm damned, indeed I am. That
fellow--! Well, there's a good riddance! I know it isn't good form
to speak about a man who's kicked the bucket otherwise than kindly,
but he was a weight on my chest that fellow was, with his long white
beard and his soft voice . . . Well, well. To be sure! Whatever will
my poor sisters do? And what's happened to that young chap, his son,
nice lad he was, took dinner with us that day last year?"
"He's gone away," said Maggie. Mathew, stupid though he was, heard
behind the quiet of Maggie's voice a warning. He flung her a hurried
surreptitious look. Her face was perfectly composed, her hands still
upon her lap. Nevertheless he said to himself, "Danger there, my
boy! Something's happened there!"
And yet his curiosity drove him for a moment further.
"Gone, has he? Where to?"
"He went abroad," said Maggie, "after his father's death. I don't
know where he's gone."
"Oh, did he? Pity! Restless, I expect--I was at his age.
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