‘My name is Babb, but that matters nothing.’
‘I never knew that of your sister. She would not tell whence she came or who she was.’
‘From your words just now,’ said Jasper, ‘I gather that you are unaware that she eloped from Morwell with an actor. I could not speak of this before her daughter.’
‘Eloped with an actor!’ repeated the manager. ‘If she did, it was after I knew her. Excuse me, I cannot believe it. She may have gone home to her father; he wanted her to return to him.’
‘You know that?’
‘Of course I do. He came to me, when I was at Tavistock, and learned from me where she was. He went to Morwell to see her once or twice, to induce her to return to him.’
‘You must be very explicit,’ said Jasper gravely. ‘My sister never came home. Neither my father nor I know to this day what became of her.’
‘Then she must have remained at Morwell. Her daughter says she is dead.’
‘She did not remain at Morwell. She disappeared.’
‘This is very extraordinary. I will tell you all I know, but that is not much. She was not with us very long. She fell ill as we were on our way from Plymouth to Launceston, and we were obliged to leave her at Morwell, the nearest house, that is some eighteen or nineteen years ago. She never rejoined us. After a year, or a year and a half, we were at Tavistock, on our way to Plymouth, from Exeter by Okehampton, and there her father met us, and I told him what had become of her. I know that I walked out one day to Morwell and saw her. I believe her father had several interviews with her, then something occurred which prevented his meeting her as he had engaged, and he asked me to see her again and explain his absence. I believe her union with the gentleman at Morwell was not quite regular, but of that I know nothing for certain. Anyhow, her father disapproved and would not meet Mr., what was his name?—O, Jordan. He saw his daughter in private, on some rock that stands above the Tamar. There also I met her, by his direction. She was very decided not to leave her child and husband, though sorry to offend and disobey her father. That is all I know—yes!—I recall the day—Midsummer Eve, June the twenty-third. I never saw her again.’