He sighed deeply, and tears welled in his eyes.
“I have no brother; he was one—and—and I’ve lost him. I should have liked to have been at the funeral to have paid a last tribute to his memory. Had I placed a wreath upon the grave, it would have been with hands more tender than any of those persons who showed outward bereavement. Where was the widow, I wonder?”
As he paused, his face grew stern and he clenched his hands.
“Bah! The widow who, by his death, has gained one hundred and twelve thousand pounds—the woman who, staking life for gold, held him in her fatal toils until death severed the bond. I wonder—I wonder, if I went to Antwerp, whether I could discover evidence of foul play? Is it not my duty to try? If he has met the same terrible fate as—”
“Good-morning, Jack!” exclaimed Dolly Vivian brightly, tripping into the room.
“Good-morning,” he assented sullenly, without looking up at her.
“How disagreeable you are to-day,” she observed, as she commenced unbuttoning her glove. “Anything wrong?”
“Yes, a good deal. I shan’t want you; I can’t work to-day,” he replied sadly.
“What’s the matter?” she asked in alarm, advancing towards him and placing her hand upon his arm.
Turning with a sigh, he looked into her face and said, in a low, earnest tone—