“Suppose it is—what the d——l is yours?” replied the man sullenly, without turning his head.
“My name is Lelland, Mr. Wingate—for such you are, or I greatly err.”
With an expression of malignant hate, the man suddenly turned, and shook his fist almost in the very teeth of Lelland.
“So we have met again, Mr. Richard Lelland, have we! Well, we shall see who will be the better for the meeting, that’s all—d——n you!”
“Your words are idle,” replied Lelland, calmly. “Answer me one question—do you know aught of your wife and children!”
At the mention of his family, Wingate grew suddenly pale, and seemed much agitated.
“And you—what—what do you know of them?” he demanded, but in more subdued tones.
“If you will go with me into the hotel yonder, I may perhaps give you some information respecting them,” he replied.
Without a word Wingate mechanically followed Lelland, who, ordering a private room, sat down to the melancholy duty before him.
“You spoke of my wife and children,” exclaimed Wingate, the moment they entered the room, “if you know any thing of them, for God’s sake tell me, for it is many months since I heard from them.”