“Mr. Dugdale, Mr. Dugdale!” Agatha called out.
He came up to the carriage with the most lengthened “E—h!” that she had ever heard him utter. “What brought you two here? This bleak day too. Very wrong of Anne!”
“But she would come. She said she wanted a breath of sea-air, and I think, besides, she has business.”
“No,” interrupted Anne, “no business, except bringing Agatha to see Weymouth. Now shall we rest, and have some tea at the inn. You'll come with us, Mr. Dugdale?”
“Yes, I want to speak to you, Anne. I've got news about—that little affair you know of. That was why I came to Weymouth to-day. Eh, now—just look there!”
With a countenance brimful of pleasure he came to Miss Valery's side, and pointed to a steamer that lay in the offing.
“It's the Anna Mary. She made the passage from New York in no time. I've been aboard her already. I fancied I might find him there. Now, what do you think, Anne?”
“Is he come?” said Anne, in a steady voice. She had quite recovered herself now.
“No—not this time. But he will sail, for certain, by the next New York packet to Havre.”
“Thank God!” It was a very low answer—just a sigh, and nothing more.