‘I have no desire in this business except to obey you,’ he said somewhat coldly. ‘Am I to understand, then, that I am absolved from my promise? I am to make no farther effort to discover Mr. Sivewright’s fate.’ ‘No farther effort. I renounce altogether the idea of tracing out my father’s life.’ ‘You are content to remain in utter ignorance of his fate—not to know whether he is living or dead?’ ‘He is in God’s hands. What could my feeble help do for him?’ ‘And after cherishing the idea of finding him all these years, you abandon the notion at once and for ever?’ ‘Yes. You think me changeable—frivolous, perhaps?’ with a faint sigh. ‘Forgive me, Lucille. I cannot help thinking you just a little capricious. I am naturally very glad to be released from the task you imposed upon me, which I felt was almost impossible. Yet I can but wonder that your opinions should undergo so complete a change. However, I do not question the wisdom of your present decision. I have placed the business in the hands of Mr. Otranto, the detective. You wish me to withdraw it—to forbid farther inquiries on his part.’ ‘Yes! It will be better so. He is not likely to discover the truth. He would only raise false hopes, to end in bitter disappointment.’ ‘His manner was certainly far from hopeful when I put the case before him. But these men have an extraordinary power of hunting up evidence. He might succeed.’ ‘No, no, Lucius. He would only lure you on to spend all your hardly-earned money, and fail at last. Tell him your inquiry is at an end. And now let us say no more about this painful subject. You are not angry with me Lucius, for having caused you so much trouble?’ ‘It is impossible for me to be angry with you, Lucille,’ answered the surgeon; and then followed the foolish lovers’ talk, at which Mrs. Wincher (presently appearing with the supper tray, whereon was set forth a banquet consisting of a plate of hard biscuits and a tumbler of London milk, for Lucille’s refreshment), assisted in her capacity of duenna and guardian angel, for half an hour of unalloyed bliss; after which she escorted Lucius to the grim old gate, like a state prisoner led across the garden of the Tower on his way to execution. ‘I shall come early to-morrow to see your grandfather,’ said Lucius to Lucille at parting. He went home lighter-hearted than usual. It was a relief to be rid of that troublesome search for a man who seemed to have vanished utterly from human ken. He wrote to Mr. Otranto, the detective, that very night, bidding him abandon the inquiry about Ferdinand Sivewright.