“I could,” said the nephew, slowly waking from a long interval of thought. “I could do—what perhaps I ought, and will—for him who has been more than a father to me.”
“What is that?” Agatha asked, while Miss Valery regarded him silently.
“To go back to America—head a search; or, if that is refused me, search for him myself alone, and never give up until I find him—living or dead.”
“Ah, do so! that will be right, generous, noble—you could not fail.”
“There is no saying, Agatha; only, if done, it must be done without delay. I must start at once—in a week—nay a day—leaving England, home, you, everything. That is hard!”
He uttered the last words inaudibly, and his left hand was suddenly clenched, as he turned and walked once up the room and down again.
Agatha knew not what to say. Only a great love conscious of the extent of its own sacrifice, would have had boldness to urge the like sacrifice upon him.
Miss Valery's voice broke the troubled pause:
“You cannot start yet, Nathanael; you would have to apply to the Government here. It would be impossible for you to leave under at least a fortnight.”
“Ah!” he sighed, momentarily relieved, which was but natural “Yet, how wrong I am! for my poor uncle's sake I ought not to lose a day. Surely there would be some way of hastening the time, if inquiries were to be set on foot.”