There was a pause, during which Honoria sat in a meditative attitude, with her eyes fixed upon vacancy. It seemed as if she was looking back into the shadowy past.
"I cannot tell you how wretched my life was for some time. Andrinetta had accompanied us to Naples; and soon I saw she was very ill, and she had fits of violence that approached insanity. Within doors she was my sole companion. The man only slept in the house, and at times was absent for months. How he earned his livelihood I knew no more than I had known in the little sea-side village. I now rarely saw jewels or gold in his possession; but at night, after he had gone to his chamber, I often heard the chink of golden coin through the thin partition which divided my room from his. I think in these days I must have perished body and soul if Providence had not sent me a friend in the person of a good Catholic priest—a noble and saintly old man—who visited the wretched dens of poverty and crime, and who discovered my desolate state. I need not dwell on that man's goodness to me; it is, doubtless, remembered in heaven, whither he may have gone before this time. He taught me, he comforted me, he rescued me from the abyss of wretchedness into which I had fallen. I took care to conceal his visits from my tyrant, for I knew how that wicked heart would revolt against my redemption from ignorance and misery. When I was fifteen years of age, Andrinetta died. One day, soon after her death—for me a most sorrowful day—Tomaso (as they called him there) told me that he was going to bring me to England, I came with him, and for two years I remained his companion. I will not speak of that time. I have told you now all that I can tell."
"But the murder of Valentine Jernam!" exclaimed Andrew. "Suspicion pointed to this man; and you—you know something of that?"
"I will not speak of that now," replied Honoria. "I have said enough. The day may come when I may speak more freely; but it has not yet arrived. Trust me that I will not impede the course of justice where this man is concerned. And now tell me, does my revelation afford one ray of light which may help to dispel the darkness that surrounds my Gertrude's fate?"
"No, I cannot say it does. I cannot find out anything to indicate that she has been taken far away. I am sure she is in England, and that one of Milsom's pals, a man named Wayman—"
Lady Eversleigh started, and exclaimed, "I know him! I know him! Go on! go on!"
Larkspur directed a glance of keen and eager curiosity towards Lady
Eversleigh. "You know Wayman?" he said.
"Well, well," she repeated. "I know him to be an unscrupulous ruffian. If he knows where my child is, he will sell the secret for money, and we will give him money—any sum; do you think I shall count the cost of her safety?"
"No, no," said Andrew Larkspur, "but you must not get so excited; keep quiet—tell me all you know of Wayman, and then we shall see our way."
At this point of the conversation Jane Payland knocked at the door of her mistress's sitting-room, and the interview between Honoria and the police-officer was interrupted.