“Dead!” repeated Gideon, not in the tone of a man who had lost a friend, but in that of one who had lost an enemy.
“Yes,” said Stephen, wiping his dry eyes with his spotless handkerchief; “my poor uncle died three days ago. I am afraid I have not broken it as softly as I should have done. You knew him well?”
“Yes, I knew him well.”
“Then you know how great a loss the county has suffered in——”
“Spare your fine phrases. Come to your business with me. What brings you here?”
“I am here in consequence of a communication made to me by my uncle on his death-bed. Are you alone?”
Gideon waved his hand with passionate impatience.
“That communication,” Stephen continued, “concerns a certain young lady——”
“He told you?” he exclaimed.
“My uncle told me that I should find a young lady, in whose future he was greatly interested, in the charge of a certain person named Gideon Rolfe.”