“Yes,” said Despard, slowly, “but what? If we could reach our hands over the grave and bring back those who have passed away, then the soul of Edith might find peace; but now--now--we can give her no peace. She only wishes to die. Yet something must be done, and the first thing is to find Louis Brandon. I will start for London to-night. I will go and seek him, not for Edith’s sake but for his own, that I may save one at least of this family. For her there is no comfort. Our efforts are useless there. If we could give her the greatest earthly happiness it would be poor and mean, and still she would sigh after that starry companionship from which her soul has been withdrawn.” “Then you believe it.” “Don’t you?” “Of course; but I did not know that you would.” “Why not? and if I did not believe it this at least would be plain, that she herself believes it. And even if it be a hallucination, it is a sublime one, and so vivid that it is the same to her as a reality. Let it be only a dream that has taken place--still that dream has made all other things dim, indistinct, and indifferent to her.” “No one but you would read Paolo’s diary without thinking him insane.” Despard smiled. “Even that would be nothing to me. Some people think that a great genius must be insane. ‘Great wits are sure to madness near allied,’ you know. For my part, I consider Paolo the sublimest of men. When I saw him last I was only a boy, and he came with his seraphic face and his divine music to give me an inspiration which has biased my life ever since. I have only known one spirit like his among those whom I have met.” An indescribable sadness passed over his face. “But now,” he continued, suddenly, “I suppose Thornton must see my uncle’s letter. His legal mind may discern some things which the law may do in this case. Edith is beyond all consolation from human beings, and still farther beyond all help from English law. But if Louis Brandon can be found the law may exert itself in his favor. In this respect be may be useful, and I have no doubt he would take up the case earnestly, out of his strong sense of justice.” When Thornton came in to dinner Despard handed him his uncle’s letter. The lawyer read it with deep attention, and without a word. Mrs. Thornton looked agitated--sometimes resting her head on her hand, at others looking fixedly at her husband. As soon as he had finished she said, in a calm, measured tone: “I did not know before that Brandon of Brandon Hall and all his family had perished so miserably.” Thornton started, and looked at her earnestly. She returned his gaze with unutterable sadness in her eyes. “He saved my father’s life,” said she. “He benefited him greatly. Your father also was under slight obligations to him. I thought that things like these constituted a faint claim on one’s gratitude, so that if one were exposed to misfortune he might not be altogether destitute of friends.” Thornton looked uneasy as his wife spoke.