'And you?'
'Mine is ended.'
'Ended!'
'In the world at least, as I shall go back to it no more.'
Seeing that Alison was in a fever of impatience to hear tidings of her father, Sister Lisette, on obtaining his name and address at the Hôtel St. Antoine, at once sent a messenger with that letter which, as we have described, so greatly startled and agitated the old man; and Alison remained in a fever of impatience, awaiting the return of that messenger who might perhaps bring her very crushing tidings.
'Dearest papa will not lose a moment in coming to me,' she murmured, partly to her nurse and partly to herself; but how, if he were too weak to come or in despair at her loss had left Antwerp, or perhaps—oh Heavens!—have sunk under it, and—died! And to see him again would be, of course, to see that odious Lord Cadbury; and so she tormented herself till the messenger returned with tidings that her father was well and had been out and about for days, despairingly searching for her, and would be with her very soon.
'Oh, thank God for that!' said Alison, and a hot shower of joyful tears relieved her; and now she started up at every sound, and inquired again and again the exact distance between the Beguinage and the Marche aux Souliers.
'Ma sœur Alison, you must not speak so much and be so impatient,' said the Beguine, holding up a finger.
'What—you know my name?'
'Yes, it is mine also.'