I set off for Granville by the omnibus next morning, and made further inquiries at every village we passed through, whether any thing had been seen of a young Englishwoman and a little girl.  At first the answer was yes; then it became a matter of doubt; at last everywhere they replied by a discouraging no.  At one point of our journey we passed a dilapidated sign-post with a rude, black figure of the Virgin hanging below it.  I could just decipher upon one finger of the post, in half-obliterated letters, “Ville-en-bois.”  It recurred to me that this was the place where fever was raging like the pest.

“It is a poor place,” said the driver, disparagingly; “there is nothing there but the fever, and a good angel of a cure, who is the only doctor into the bargain.  It is two leagues and a kilometre, and it is on the road to nowhere.”

I could not stop in my quest to turn aside, and visit this village smitten with fever, though I felt a strong inclination to do so.  At Granville I learned that a young lady and a child had made the voyage to Jersey a short time before; and I went on with stronger hope.  But in Jersey I could obtain no further information about her; nor in Guernsey, whither I felt sure Olivia would certainly have proceeded.  I took one day more to cross over to Sark, and consult Tardif; but he knew no more than I did.  He absolutely refused to believe that Olivia was dead.

“In August,” he said, “I shall hear from her.  Take courage and comfort.  She promised it, and she will keep her promise.  If she had known herself to be dying, she would have sent me word.”

“It is a long time to wait,” I said, with an utter sinking of spirit.

“It is a long time to wait!” he echoed, lifting up his hands, and letting them fall again with a gesture of weariness; “but we must wait and hope.”

To wait in impatience, and to hope at times, and despair at times, I returned to London.

CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH.

THE LAW OF MARRIAGE.

One of my first proceedings, after my return, was to ascertain how the English law stood with regard to Olivia’s position.  Fortunately for me, one of Dr. Senior’s oldest friends was a lawyer of great repute, and he discussed the question with me after a dinner at his house at Fulham.

“There seems to be no proof against the husband of any kind,” he said, after I had told him all.

“Why!” I exclaimed, “here you have a girl, brought up in luxury and wealth, willing to brave any poverty rather than continue to live with him.”

“A girl’s whim,” he said; “mania, perhaps.  Is there insanity in her family?”

“She is as sane as I am,” I answered.  “Is there no law to protect a wife against the companionship of such a woman as this second Mrs. Foster?”

“The husband introduces her as his cousin,” he rejoined, “and places her in some little authority on the plea that his wife is too young to be left alone safely in Continental hotels.  There is no reasonable objection to be taken to that.”