“And do they wish your wedding to be like that?” I whispered, creeping close to him.
“Like that!” said Turner, lifting up his eyes, “God forbid! Mine, if it must be, is but the expiation of that!”
“And would Lord Clare desire it?—would he insist like Lady Catherine?” I questioned. “Would he turn me out of doors unless you married Maria, do you think?”
“He turn you out of doors—he, child? I only wish we had some way of reaching him!”
“Where is he now?”
“In Africa, the last we heard, searching for what he will never find.”
“And what is that, Mr. Turner?”
“Peace, child, peace—a thing that he will never know again on this side the grave!”
“Is he a bad man then?” I persisted, strangely enthralled by the subject.
“Millions of worse men will live and revel after he has pined himself into the grave.”