"Come along, and I'll tell you," replied the iron-merchant, dragging him away, while Morse followed closely behind them. "I'm so glad to have met you," pursued Thorneycroft, as soon as they were clear of the mob; "you'll be shocked to hear what has happened to your niece, Ebba."
"Why, what has happened to her?" demanded Loftus. "You alarm me. Out with it at once. I hate to be kept in suspense."
"She has left me," replied Thorneycroft—"left her old indulgent father—run away."
"Run away!" exclaimed Loftus. "Impossible! I'll not believe it—even from your lips."
"Would it were not so!—but it is, alas! too true," replied Thorneycroft mournfully. "And the thing was so unnecessary, for I would gladly have given her to the young man. My sole hope is that she has not utterly disgraced herself."
"No, she is too high principled for that," cried Loftus. "Rest easy on that score. But with whom has she run away?"
"With a young man named Auriol Darcy," replied Thorneycroft. "He was brought to my house under peculiar circumstances."
"I never heard of him," said Loftus.
"But I have," interposed Morse. "I've known him these two hundred years."
"Eh day! who's this?" cried Thorneycroft.