"What do you want me to do for you?" says Sartoris, very humbly. He feels that he can hardly lift his eyes in this man's presence.
"Find her! That is all I ask of you. Find her, dead or alive! You are a great man,—high in authority, with power, and servants at command. Find me my child! Oh, man, help me, in some way!"
He cries this in an impassioned tone. He is totally overcome. His poor old white head falls helplessly upon his clasped arms.
Sartoris, pale as death, and visibly affected, can make no reply. He trembles, and stands before the humble miller as one oppressed with guilt.
Annersley mistakes his meaning, and, striding forward, lays his hand upon his arm.
"You are silent," he says, in a terrible tone, made up of grief and anguish more intense than words can tell. "You do not think she is in the wrong, do you? You believe her innocent? Speak!—speak!"
"I do," responds Sartoris, and only his own heart knows that he lies. Yet his tone is so smothered, so unlike his usual one, that he hardly recognizes it himself.
"If Mr. Branscombe were only here," says Annersley, in a stricken voice, after a lengthened pause, "he would help me. He has always been a kind friend to me and mine."
Lord Sartoris draws a deep breath, that is almost a sob.
"When does he return, my lord?"