Campbell hung down his head.
"Angel, truly! Azraël, the angel of death, then. Go to her now—go, and leave a humbled penitent man alone with God."
"Oh, my Saint Père!" cried she, bursting into tears. "This is too wretched—all a horrid dream—and when, too—when I had been counting on telling you something so different!—I cannot now, I have not the heart."
"What, more misery?"
"Oh no! no! no! You will know all to-morrow. Ask Scoutbush."
"I shall be gone in search of that man long before Scoutbush is awake."
"Impossible! you do not know whither he is gone."
"If I employ every detective in Bow Street, I will find him."
"Wait, only wait, till the post comes in to-morrow. He will surely write, if not to her,—wretch that he is!—at least to some of us."
"If he be alive. No. I must go up to Pen-y-gwryd, where he was last seen, and find out what I can."