A certain contraction of the mouth, as he said this, and a gleam of the eyes, suggested to Nigel that revenge was not yet dead within the hermit’s breast, although it had been overcome.
“What was her name?” asked Nigel, willing to gain time to think how he ought to act, and being afraid of the effect that the sudden communication of the news might have on his friend.
“Winnie—darling Winnie—after her mother,” said the hermit with deep pathos in his tone.
A feeling of disappointment came over our hero. Winnie bore not the most distant resemblance to Kathleen!
“Did you ever, during your search,” asked Nigel slowly, “visit the Cocos-Keeling Islands?”
“Never. They are too far from where the attack on us was made.”
“And you never heard of a gun-boat having captured a pirate junk and—”
“Why do you ask, and why pause?” said the hermit, looking at his friend in some surprise.
Nigel felt that he had almost gone too far.
“Well, you know—” he replied in some confusion, “you—you are right when you expect me to sympathise with your great sorrow, which I do most profoundly, and—and—in short, I would give anything to be able to suggest hope to you, my friend. Men should never give way to despair.”