The young lawyer had heard the story of the forgery vaguely hinted at by those who were familiar with the history of the Dunbar family; and he had heard that the early life of Henry Dunbar had been that of a selfish spendthrift.
Perhaps this may have had some influence upon his feelings in this his first meeting with the father of the woman he loved.
Henry Dunbar told the story of the murder. The two men were inexpressibly shocked by this story.
"But where is Sampson Wilmot?" exclaimed Mr. Balderby. "It was he whom I sent to meet you, knowing that he was the only person in the office who remembered you, or whom you remembered."
"Sampson was taken ill upon the way, according to his brother's story," Mr. Dunbar answered. "Joseph left the poor old man somewhere upon the road."
"He did not say where?"
"No; and, strange to say, I forgot to ask him the question. The poor fellow amused me by old memories of the past on the road between Southampton and this place, and we therefore talked very little of the present."
"Sampson must be very ill," exclaimed Mr. Balderby, "or he would certainly have returned to St. Gundolph Lane to tell me what had taken place."
Mr. Dunbar smiled.
"If he was too ill to go on to Southampton, he would, of course, be too ill to return to London," he said, with supreme indifference.