Learmont drew a long breath, as he said,—“You say she has escaped from him? How was that?”
“Some men had sought his life, she told me, and he had assured her that his only chance of preservation lay in their not finding her with him; and moreover, as they supposed her a boy, she might escape and so preserve herself and him by attiring herself in the proper habiliments of her sex.”
“Yes—yes—she did?”
“She did, sir, on the mere doubt that he might be her father.”
“Well? And after that?”
“After that I never saw her. I have searched in every place in London. I have wearied myself with a long and useless hunt. I have inquired until I met with insolence from some, and mockery from others. Oh, sir, if indeed you will aid me in this matter, I do, from my heart, believe that while you make two beings happy who will ever bless your name,—you will likewise be unmasking some monstrous villany which this man Jacob Gray has been concerned in.”
“Bless my name,” muttered Learmont, with a shudder.
“With your means, and your influence with the authorities, we must surely succeed,” continued Albert. “Oh, then, sir, consider what a glorious reflection it will be to you to see our happiness, and tell yourself that if was all your work.”
“The—the wine, sir,” said the trembling servant, coming into the room. Learmont motioned it to be laid before him, and then filled a bumper that quite astonished Albert, and tossed it off at one draught.
“Drink,” he said, as he pushed a decanter across the table to Albert. “It will raise your spirits to tell me the remainder of your strange eventful story.”