“Ah! so many years have elapsed that the task would not be likely to turn out satisfactory in any way, even if I were disposed to consent.”
“But you will give your consent. Let me prevail upon you to do so,” observed the good old vicar. “Some effort must be made to find out whether your daughter is alive or dead—that is the first thing to be done.”
“We have not the faintest clue. Five and twenty years have passed over. You seem to forget that.”
“No, indeed, I do not. I have thought over this matter more often than you can possibly imagine, for I must tell you it is a subject which has troubled me much for years past. I have abstained from breaking it from feelings of delicacy, as I felt that I had no right to interfere between father and child; but it has occupied my mind very much, nevertheless, and it has, moreover, caused me the deepest anxiety.”
“Pray say no more. Accept my best thanks for your kindness and consideration. I will think the subject over, and then determine upon my course of action.”
“No time like the present.”
“You are very persistent,” observed the earl, with a smile—it was the first that irradiated his features for many a day.
His companion looked upon it as a good omen.
“I have one or two calls to make at the other end of the village, and, upon my return, will call in again,” said the vicar. “Think over what I have said. In less than an hour I will see you again.”
“Good. I shall look for you, then, at the expiration of that time.”