"Yes."
"The young lady by Doctor Louis's side, is she his daughter?"
"Yes."
"Is her husband there--Gabriel Carew?"
"Yes; there he is." And the girl pointed him out.
The man nodded, and moved apart. But he did not remain so; he mingled with the throng, and coming close to the persons he had asked about, gazed at them, as though in the endeavour to fix their faces in his memory. Especially did he gaze, long and earnestly, at Gabriel Carew. None noticed him; they were too deeply preoccupied in their special sorrow. When the principal mourners moved away, he followed them at a little distance, and saw them enter Doctor Louis's house. Being gone from his sight, he waited patiently. Patience was required, because for three or four hours none who entered the house emerged from it. Nature, however, is a stern mistress, and in her exactions is not to be denied. The man took from his pocket some bread and cheese, which he cut with a stout clasp knife, and devoured. At four o'clock in the afternoon Father Daniel came out of the house. The man accosted him.
"You are Father Daniel?"
"I am." And the priest, with his earnest eyes upon the stranger, said, "I do not know you."
"No," replied the man, "I have never seen you before to-day. We are strangers to each other. But I have heard much of you."
"From whom?"