“Oh, Ray, is there any news of her? Is she found?” eagerly exclaimed Erminie.
“No; nor is she likely to be as far as I can see,” said Ray, gloomily. “Not the slightest trace of her has been found, though the whole beach has been searched, from one end to another. They have given it up now, and gone home for to-night. Ranty and the admiral stay in Judestown all night, and the hunt is to be resumed to-morrow, with the same success, I suppose. They are mad—worse than mad—to think they will ever see her again.”
He flung himself into a chair, and leaned his head on his hand, while his thick, jet-black hair fell heavily over his face.
Something in his look, tone, and attitude awed and stilled Erminie into silence. Though her own gentle heart seemed bursting with grief, there was a depth of passionate despair in his that repressed all outward sobs and tears. In silence they remained for a while, she silently watching him, and trying to choke back her sobs; and then, going over, she touched him gently on the arm, and said:
“Dear Ray, let me get you some supper; you have tasted nothing since early this morning.”
“Supper! Do you think I could eat, now?” he cried, with fierce impatience. “I do not want any. Go!”
“Dear Ray, do not look and speak so strangely. Perhaps you will find her to-morrow.”
“Perhaps—perhaps! When a man has lost all he loves in the world, there is a great consolation in a cool ‘perhaps he may find it again.’ Do you think those hell-hounds would spare her a moment, once they got her in their power! Oh, Petronilla—bright, beautiful Petronilla! lost, lost, forever!”
“Ray, Ray!” exclaimed Erminie, in low, terrified tones, as a new light broke upon her, “did you love Petronilla?”
“Love?” he cried, with passionate fierceness, starting up and shaking back his thick, dark hair. “Yes; I loved her with a love that you with your gentle nature and calmly-beating heart can never dream of. I loved her as only those can love whose veins, like mine, run fire instead of blood. Now that she is forever lost to me, I may confess; what no living mortal would ever have discovered else. Yes; I loved her! What do you think of my presumption, little sister? I, the beggared grandson of a despised gipsy, educated by the bounty of her uncle, dared to lift my eyes to this heiress, beauty and belle—this proud daughter of a prouder father. Loved her? Yes; beyond the power of words to tell!”