Volume Three—Chapter One.
Disappointment.
Five minutes after, his brain in a whirl from the reaction that had taken place, when—wound up to expect some great horror—he had found nothing but that which was trifling and absurd, Sir Francis Redgrave was seated in the Frenchman’s room; for he had turned sick and faint, and brandy had been procured for him, Patty eagerly bringing forward glass and water, for Janet seemed completely unnerved, and had sunk down on a low seat with her face in her hands, as if stunned.
“You look young, and good, and pure-minded,” said the old man, feebly, as he looked fixedly in Patty’s fair young face, as she gazed sympathisingly in his countenance. “Listen to me, my child—for you are quite a child to me. Perhaps you know I am seeking my boy, my only child. I can see through it now. In his folly he was attracted here by you. I don’t reproach you; I say nothing harsh, only pray you humbly, as his father, to tell me where they have placed him. Is he dead? Has he been inveigled into some den for the sake of his money? Only tell me—only let me be at peace, and I will bless you. Do you know? Do not be afraid to answer. You shall be protected, even if it were for life, should it prove necessary. The man below has sworn that my son entered this house, and did not come out again.”
“Yes—Jack Screwby,” said the sergeant, interposing, and nodding his head as he spoke.
“Tell me then, my child,” continued Sir Francis, “and I will bless you, pray for you, offer up an old man’s prayers for your happiness—only set me free from this horrible suspense. Tell me even if he is dead.”
Patty sobbed as she gazed in the old man’s face, and then with an effort she exclaimed—
“It’s all false, every word. That man is a bad, cruel fellow, and the enemy of my friends here. What he has said is not true, I am certain of it.”
“You are in league with these people,” said the old man, turning from her.