'About what?' she whispered.
'About my poor old father.'
'Yes. I was hoping—hoping you would never know.'
By a common impulse they went into the garden of the Priory, and he shut the door.
'Never know?' he repeated. 'Oh! they took care to tell me.'
A silence followed.
'Is that your luggage?' she inquired. He lifted up the handbag, and nodded.
'All of it?'
'Yes,' he said. 'I'm only an emigrant.'
'I've got a note here for you,' she said. 'I should have posted it to the steamer; but now you can take it yourself. I want you not to read it till you get to Melbourne.'