Now this was the first time Little had broken down before Ransome.  Hitherto he had spoken of Coventry, but not of Grace; he had avoided speaking of her, partly from manly delicacy, partly because he foresaw his fortitude would give way if he mentioned her.

But now the strong man’s breast seemed as if it would burst, and his gasping breath, and restless body, betrayed what a price he must have paid for the dogged fortitude he had displayed for several weeks, love-sick all the time.

Ransome was affected:  he rose and walked about the room, ashamed to look at a Spartan broken down.

When he had given Little time to recover some little composure, he said, “Mr. Little, you were always too much of a gentleman to gossip about the lady you love; and it was not my business to intrude upon that subject; it was too delicate.  But, of course, with what I have picked up here and there, and what you have let drop, without the least intending it, I know pretty well how the land lies.  And, sir, a man does not come to my time of life without a sore and heavy heart; if I was to tell you how I came to be a bachelor—­but, no; even after ten years I could not answer for myself.  All I can say is that, if you should do me the honor to consult me on something that is nearer your heart than revenge, you would have all my sympathy and all my zeal.”

“Give me your hand, old fellow,” said Little, and broke down again.

But, this time, he shook it off quickly, and, to encourage him, Mr. Ransome said, “To begin, you may take my word Mr. Carden knows, by this time, where his daughter is.  Why not sound him on the matter?”

Henry acted on this advice, and called on Mr. Carden.

He was received very coldly by that gentleman.

After some hesitation, he asked Mr. Carden if he had any news of his daughter.

“I have.”

The young man’s face was irradiated with joy directly.

“Is she well, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Is she happier than she was?”

“She is content.”

“Has she friends about her?  Kind, good people; any persons of her own sex, whom she can love?”

“She is among people she takes for angels, at present.  She will find them to be petty, mean, malicious devils.  She is in a Protestant convent.”

“In a convent?  Where?”

“Where?  Where neither the fool nor the villain, who have wrecked her happiness between them, and robbed me of her, will ever find her.  I expected this visit, sir; the only thing I doubted was which would come first, the villain or the fool.  The fool has come first, and being a fool, expects me to tell him where to find his victim, and torture her again.  Begone, fool, from the house you have made desolate by your execrable folly in slipping away by night like a thief, or rather like that far more dangerous animal, a fool.”

The old man delivered these insults with a purple face, and a loud fury, that in former days would have awakened corresponding rage in the fiery young fellow.  But affliction had tempered him, and his insulter’s hairs were gray.