There was something
rather cruel, he thought, in Dermod's resolve to die alone. It was Ethne
who broke the silence.
"I said that my father spoke to me just before he told me to leave him.
Of whom do you think he spoke?"
She was looking directly at Durrance as she put the question. From
neither her eyes nor the level tone of her voice could he gather
anything of the answer, but a sudden throb of hope caught away his
breath.
"Tell me!" he said, in a sort of suspense, as he leaned forward in his
chair.
"Of Mr. Feversham," she answered, and he drew back again, and rather
suddenly. It was evident that this was not the name which he had
expected. He took his eyes from hers and stared downwards at the carpet,
so that she might not see his face.
"My father was always very fond of him," she continued gently, "and I
think that I would like to know if you have any knowledge of what he is
doing or where he is."
Durrance did not answer nor did he raise his face. He reflected upon the
strange strong hold which Harry Feversham kept upon the affections of
those who had once known him well; so that even the man whom he had
wronged, and upon whose daughter he had brought much suffering, must
remember him with kindliness upon his death-bed.
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