“That’s easy answered. She did it partly o’ herself; but more at the biddin’ o’ the priest, whom she daren’t disobey—the weak-minded creature most o’ her time given up to sayin’ prayers and paternosters. They all knowed the girl loved me, and wor sure to be my wife, whatever they might say or do against it. Wi’ her willing I could a’ defied the whole lot o’ them. Bein’ aware o’ that their only chance wor to get her out o’ my way by some trick—as they ha’ indeed got her. Ye may think it strange their takin’ all that trouble; but if ye’d seen her ye wouldn’t. There worn’t on all Wyeside so good lookin’ a girl!”
Ryecroft again looks incredulous; not smilingly, but with a sad cast of countenance.
Despite its improbability, however, he begins to think there may be some truth in what the waterman says—Jack’s earnest convictions sympathetically impressing him.
“And supposing her to be alive,” he asks, “where do you think she is now? Have you any idea?”
“I have—leastways a notion.”
“Where?”
“Over the water—in France—the town o’ Bolone.”
“Boulogne!” exclaims the Captain, with a start. “What makes you suppose she is there?”
“Something, sir, I han’t yet spoke to ye about. I’d a’most forgot the thing, an’ might never a thought o’t again, but for what ha’ happened since. Ye’ll remember the night we come up from the ball, my tellin’ ye I had an engagement the next day to take the young Powells down the river?”
“I remember it perfectly.”