“Three prisoners—three?”
“Yes, a gentleman, his wife, and child, taken on the Canada frontier.”
“And when was this?”
Sir John mentioned the date rather carelessly; he was pouring out a glass of wine, and did not observe the wild anxiety with which his guest awaited this answer.
“Oh, my God—my God!”
His arms spread themselves on the table, his face fell between them, while a terrible burst of passion shook him from limb to centre.
“Oh, my God—my God!”
It was all he could say; the words were suffocating him as they rose.
The host and Butler looked at each other in silent amazement. An earthquake could not have surprised them more. Even Butler was awed by an outbreak of feeling, the more impressive because of the apparent composure that had preceded it.
At last Murray lifted his head; every feature was quivering with emotion—joy, regret, sharp pain, and wild triumph struggled there.