“Is it, indeed, so?” asked Robert, his face lighting up.
“It is. I need scarcely say that your cousin observed, with apprehension, your father’s returning mildness. Lest it might lead to a complete reconciliation, he resolved to get your father out of the country. He accordingly proposed a European tour, to which he procured your father’s assent. Preparations were hurriedly made. They sailed for Liverpool, and several years were spent in visiting the principal cities of Europe.”
Robert Ford, to whom this was new, listened intently.
“At length they returned. Then, in order that you might more effectually lose all trace of your father, he persuaded him to sell the estate upon which he had hitherto resided, and remove——”
“Whither?” demanded Mr. Ford, eagerly.
“I will tell you presently.”
“I had written to my father. Were none of my letters received?”
“They were,—by Lewis. Of course, he took care to suppress them. Nevertheless, your father still felt a strong desire to see you once more, and tell you that he had forgiven you. Lewis again became alarmed, and, as a last resort, caused your death to be inserted in a western paper, and shown to your father. This was sufficient for that time. Within a brief period, however, his apprehensions and your father’s desire to see you have again become excited. Your father one day caught a glimpse of you in the street.”
“What do you say?” exclaimed Robert Ford, in agitation. “My father saw me? Where does he live?”
“In this city,—in New York. He recognized you in spite of the long separation, and so did Lewis; but the latter took the greatest care to assure your father that he was mistaken; that you had long been dead. Nevertheless, he was not wholly convinced. Though not in the least doubting your cousin’s good faith, he answered that there might be some mistake; that it was possible you were still living.”