Irene beckoned, and Bridget came over to the bench.
"I have been talking of the little girl who died, Mrs. Bridget," began Herrick, with a friendly air. "It has happened to me very curiously within the last few days to come upon traces of that infant's father, and of the first year of her life. Now, I know you were very fond of her, and that you must be interested in anything that relates to her."
Without a moment's warning nurse Bridget began to cry. Rena made her sit down between them, and dried her tears, and soothed her with sweetest caresses.
"Why should you be so broken-hearted about her, you poor old dear soul?" she said; "you were never unkind to her, I am sure."
"No, I was never unkind to her—I have not that upon my conscience," sobbed Bridget; "but I have never forgotten her pretty face and her sweet little ways, and how loving she was to me, dear soul. And to hear of her suddenly—O sir, what did you discover about the poor man who was found dead on Flamestead Common?" she asked, recovering herself with an effort.
"I heard that he was a man of good birth, by name Chumleigh. I heard some particulars of his youth and his marriage, and I mean to find out more. Having got so far upon the traces of his history it will hardly be difficult to learn the rest."
"But what good will it do to any one, sir," asked Bridget, "since the child has been dead so many years? There is nobody to profit by your knowledge."
"Who can say as much as that, Mrs. Bridget? Knowledge is power. I should like to know the history of Mrs. Bosworth's little companion. It pleases me to think that she was something better than a beggar's brat—a child of good birth, and, for all I know, entitled on the mother's side to a large fortune."
Bridget became suddenly alert and interested.
"A fortune did you say, sir?" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that my darling had a right to a fortune?"