"Well, you ought to know best," answered the sister, in a tone of gentle submission. "I'm sure he puzzles me!"
"Now," said Jacob, seating himself, "let us leave the boy to his rest. I wish to talk with you about old times—about the people Down East."
"It is a good while since I was in Maine, Jacob; I've almost forgotten all about the folks."
"But there was one family that you will remember. Old Mr. Wilcox's, I want to hear about him."
There was something constrained and unnatural in Jacob's manner; he had evidently forced himself to appear calm when every word was sharpened with anxiety.
Mrs. Gray shook her head; Jacob's heart fell as he saw the motion. "Nothing—can you tell me nothing?" he said, with an expression of deep anguish. "Oh, Sarah, try, try! you do not know how much happiness a word from you would bring!"
"If I could but speak it," said Mrs. Gray, "how glad I should be. Mr. Wilcox sold out and left Maine about the time we moved on to the Island; where he went, no one ever heard. It was a very strange thing, everybody thought so at the time; but that story about his daughter set people a-talking, and I suppose he couldn't bear it."
Jacob uttered a faint groan—her words had taken the last hope from his heart. "And this is all you know, Sarah?"
"It is all anybody knows of old Mr. Wilcox or his family. As for his daughter—let me think, that was just before you left the old gentleman; nobody ever heard of her either. What is the matter, are you going away, Jacob?"
"Yes, I will talk over these things another time. Good night, Sarah. I will just throw myself on the bed till daybreak."