CHAPTER XL
LE’S DESPAIR
It was a bright June morning when our small party of travelers, having breakfasted well at the Anglesea Arms, and settled with the landlady, once more entered the dilapidated one-horse carriage, to be driven to the railway station.
As the front of the carriage was open, and every word spoken by the travelers could be heard by the driver, there was but little conversation indulged in except what related to the weather or the scenery.
The drive over the moors, although, in the springless vehicle on the rough up-and-down hill, it shook the passengers severely, was, in other respects, very pleasant.
They reached the little way station in good time, and had only a few moments to wait before the train came up.
Mr. Force was fortunate in securing a compartment for himself and his companions; and it was not until they were all three seated within it and the train was in motion again that any opportunity for private conversation was given.
“Well, we have spent three days—I had nearly said we have lost three days on our quest—and what have we gained?” gloomily inquired Mr. Force. “Nothing apparently but the knowledge that the deepest-dyed villain in the whole world enjoys in his own neighborhood the reputation of a saint, a sage, a hero and a philanthropist rolled into one! It is very curious that a man may be such an accomplished hypocrite all his life as to deceive all his neighbors, and then to go off into a foreign country and give reins to his evil nature and reveal himself as a pure devil! Clearly he must have been in California when his wife was taken ill. Clearly he married the Widow Wright during his wife’s lifetime, robbed the dupe and fled back to England in time to play the hypocrite at Lady Mary’s deathbed, and act chief mourner at her funeral; then, under pretense that he could not bear the house where he missed her every hour, hastened back to America, but, giving his dupe a wide berth, went to the North instead of the South, and honored with his presence Niagara Falls, where we——”
“‘Foregathered wi’ the de’il,’” put in Wynnette.
“True, my dear! We did! And we all suffered in consequence.” Then turning to the young midshipman, who sat buried in his bitter thoughts, he said: “Le, my dear boy, do not be so utterly cast down. There must be some way out of this trouble, and we will try to find it. Let us do our best and trust in Providence.”
The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently at this well-meant piece of commonplace philosophy, as he replied: