“I am afraid so!” was Abraham’s internal comment.—“And his name, daughter?”
“Father Bruno.”
“What?” Abraham had risen, with outspread hands, as though he would fain push away some unwelcome and horrible thing.
Belasez repeated the name.
“Bruno!—de Malpas?”
“I never heard of any name but Bruno.”
“Has he talked with thee?” Abraham’s whole manner showed agitation.
“Much.”
“Upon what subjects?”
Belasez would gladly have avoided that question.