“You know,” he whispers, “what do you know of my child?”
And then as Stanhope hesitates, he cries piteously: “Oh, tell me, is she alive?”
“I have not a doubt of it,” says Stanhope, smiling. “She was alive half an hour ago.”
“And safe and well?”
“And safe and well.”
“Thank God! Oh, thank God!”
A moment he bows his head upon his hands, then lifts it and exclaims eagerly:
“Half an hour, you said; then—she must be near?”
“Yes; she is very near.”
“Take me to her—tell me where to find her—at once.”