The priest looked at him steadfastly, and, as it seemed, very sadly.
‘Will you tell me the lady’s name?’
‘She is known as Miss Alma Craik, but she has a right to another name, which she shall bear.’
‘Alas!’ said the other, with a deep sigh and a look full of infinite compassion, ‘I knew the poor lady well. Perhaps, if you have been in correspondence with her, she mentioned my name—the Abbé Brest?’
‘Never,’ exclaimed Bradley.
‘What is it you wish to know concerning her? I will help you as well as I can.’
‘First, I wish to be assured that that man lied (though of course I know he lied) when he said that evil had happened to her, that—that she had died. Next, I demand to know where she is, that I may speak to her. Do not attempt to keep her from me! I will see her!’ The face of the Abbé seemed to harden, while his eyes retained their sad, steadfast gaze.
‘Pardon me,’ he said after a moment’s reflection, ‘and do not think that I put the question in rudeness or with any want of brotherly sympathy—but by what right do you, a stranger, solicit this information? If I give it you, I must be able to justify myself before my superiors. The lady, or, as I should rather say, our poor Sister, is, as I understand, in no way related to you by blood?’
‘She is my wife!’ answered Bradley.
It was now the other’s turn to express, or at least assume, astonishment. Uttering an incredulous exclamation, he raised his eyes to heaven, and slightly elevated his hands.