“We are hardly warranted, Evaline, in holding him in suspicion,” answered Sir Edgar; “but, I confess, I cannot make his singular disappearance look honourable. But he may, for aught we know, be some paltry adventurer, who hath more knowledge of wars than courtesies, and is better acquainted with the customs of a soldier, which we have seen him fulfil manfully, than the habits of a gentleman.”
“Oh no, father!” cried Evaline, with some eagerness, “thou canst not—I am sure thou wilt not—deliberately say this of him. Whatever he may turn out, he hath always shown a very graceful behaviour, no less as a gentleman than a soldier.”
“Well, I think he has,” rejoined Sir Edgar. “And yet—But what can we think, Evaline?”
“Indeed, I know not,” said Evaline, in an earnest tone.
As she spoke, she felt a trembling hand laid timidly on her arm, and, turning round, her eye fell on Martha Follett.
“If thou art speaking of the stranger-cavalier, my lady,” said Martha, in an under tone, “I think Don Felix knows where he is.”
“What says the girl?” inquired Sir Edgar.
“’Tis nothing, Sir,” answered Evaline. “She thought my good cousin, Don Felix, might know where our missing guest had gone; but he hath no more knowledge of the matter than ourselves.”
“Yet the girl may speak on some grounds,” observed Sir Edgar. “What meanest thou, Martha?” he added.
“Indeed, Sir, the matter ought to be made known to thee,” answered Martha; “and though I am loth to be thought a tale-bearer, I will even tell it thee myself. And ’tis only myself, I believe, that can tell thee all, though most of the servants know something hath happened.”