Florence thought of the poor mother who had never ceased to hope and pray for her son’s reformation, and covered her eyes with her hand.
“To the question you asked me, ‘Was he alone?’ I must answer ‘Yes.’ But my informant avers that after the death a young female——Shall I go on? Is this a tale for your ears?”
“Oh, I beseech you tell me all!” she cried breathlessly. Was the clue found at last? Had Julia indeed followed the heartless man who had so cruelly deserted her?
Mr. Aylwinne obeyed.
“A young female laid claim to the papers of the deceased, averring that she had a legal right to their possession, and promising to appear at the inquest. When this took place, however, she had disappeared—having, it was discovered, taken her departure for New York.”
“And this is all?” said Florence inquiringly, finding that he paused.
“All I have been able to gather at present. But if you can suggest anything——”
“A thousand thanks,” she answered hastily. “But, no; I must consult my friend.” And then Florence’s head went down on her hand again with a thrill of pity, as she pictured the struggles and privations Julia must have endured—nay, might now be enduring, a stranger in a strangers’ land, too proud to beseech her cousin’s assistance, unless she had been successful in obtaining the proofs of her marriage.
When she looked up Mr. Aylwinne had gone. He had returned to the group on the beach; and when, warned by the increasing chilliness of the night, they came in, he still lingered on the sands with his cigar, pacing to and fro in the moonlight.
Mrs. Blunden cast a searching look at her niece when she came into her room to bid her good night.