In
the same spot where he had sought for news of Feversham news had now
come to him--only he did not know. He was in the dark; he could not
appreciate that here was news which, however little it might trouble the
historian, touched his life at the springs. He dismissed the paragraph
from his mind, and sat thinking over the conversation which had passed
that afternoon between Ethne and himself, and without discouragement.
Ethne had mentioned Harry Feversham, it was true,--had asked for news of
him. But she might have been--nay, she probably had been--moved to ask
because her father's last words had referred to him. She had spoken his
name in a perfectly steady voice, he remembered; and, indeed, the mere
fact that she had spoken it at all might be taken as a sign that it had
no longer any power with her. There was something hopeful to his mind in
her very request that he should try during this one year to omit her
from his thoughts. For it seemed almost to imply that if he could not,
she might at the end of it, perhaps, give to him the answer for which he
longed. He allowed a few days to pass, and then called again at Mrs.
Adair's house. But he found only Mrs.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156