"Yes; making inquiries after you. I think I quite convinced them that I knew nothing about you. They apologised for the trouble they had given me, and went away."
"Oh, father, father!" cried Kitty, stretching out her arms and sobbing wildly, as if she could make him hear: "Oh, father, come back! come back! Am I to die here and never see you again—never again?"
Hugo said nothing more. He had no need. She wept herself into quietness, and then remained silent for a long time, with her head buried in her hands. He left her in this position, and did not return until the evening. And then she spoke to him in a voice which showed that her strength had deserted her, her will had been bent at last.
"Do as you please," she said. "I will be your wife. I see no other way. But I hate you—I hate you—and I will never forgive you for what you have done as long as ever I live."
CHAPTER XLV.
TOO LATE!
Rupert Vivian went to London with a fixed determination not to return to Strathleckie. He told himself that he had been thinking far too much of the whims and vagaries of a silly, pretty girl; and that it would be for his good to put such memories of her bright eyes, and vain, coquettish ways as remained to him, completely out of his mind. He did his best to carry out this resolution, but he was not very successful.
He had some troubles of his own, and a good deal of business to transact; but the weeks did not pass very rapidly, although his time was so fully occupied. He began to be anxious to hear something of his friend, Percival Heron; he searched the newspapers for tidings of the Arizona, he called at Lloyd's to inquire after her; but a mystery seemed to hang over her fate. She had never reached Pernambuco—so much was certain! Had she gone to the bottom, carrying with her passengers and crew? And the Falcon, in which Brian had sailed—also reported missing—what had become of her?
Rupert knew enough of Elizabeth Murray's story to think of her with anxiety—almost with tenderness—at this juncture. He knew of no reason why the marriage with Percival should not take place, for he had not heard a word about her special interest in Brian Luttrell; but he had been told of Brian's reappearance, and of the doubt cast upon his claim to the property. He was anxious, for Percival's sake as well as for hers, that the matter should be satisfactorily adjusted; and he felt a pang of dismay when he first learnt the doubt that hung over the fate of the Arizona.