"I? how?"
The Mayor was puzzled. "Deceived me," he said at last, "in my knowledge of human nature. I thought you an honest man, sir. And you are—but no matter."
WAIFE (impatiently).—"My child! my child! you have given her up to— to—"
MAYOR.—"Her own father, sir."
WAIFE (echoing the words as he staggers back).—"I thought so! I thought it!"
MAYOR.—"In so doing I obeyed the law: he had legal power to enforce his demand." The Mayor's voice was almost apologetic in its tone; for he was affected by Waife's anguish, and not able to silence a pang of remorse. After all, he had been trusted; and he had, excusably perhaps, necessarily perhaps, but still he had failed to fulfil the trust. "But," added the Mayor, as if reassuring himself, "but I refused at first to give her up even to her own father; at first insisted upon waiting till your return; and it was only when I was informed what you yourself were that my scruples gave Way."
Waife remained long silent, breathing very hard, passing his hand several times over his forehead; at last he said more quietly than he had yet spoken, "Will you tell me where they have gone?"
"I do not know; and, if I did know, I would not tell you! Are they not right when they say that that innocent child should not be tempted away by—by—a—in short by you, sir?"
"They said! Her father—said that!—he said that!—Did he—did he say it? Had he the heart?"
MAYOR.—"No, I don't think he said it. Eh, Mr. Williams? He spoke little to me!"