“I said so, because he is one who has lived long estranged from the world,” said Lucy, gently; for in the sudden burst of the other's passion she only saw matter for deep compassion. It was but another part of a nature torn and distracted by unceasing anxieties. “But his name,--his name?” said Mrs. Sewell, wildly. “His name is Sir Brook Fossbrooke.” “I knew it, I knew it!” cried she, wildly,--“I knew it!” and said it over and over again. “Go where we will we shall find him. He haunts; us like a curse,--like a curse!” And it was in almost a shriek the last word came forth. “You cannot know the man if you say this of him,” said Lucy, firmly. “Not know him!--not know him! You will tell me next that I do not know myself,--not know my own name,--not know the life of bitterness I have lived,--the shame of it,--the ineffable shame of it!” and she threw herself on her face on the sofa, and sobbed convulsively. Long and anxiously did Lucy try all in her power to comfort and console her. She poured out her whole heart in pledges of sisterly love and affection. She assured her of a sympathy that would never desert her; and, last of all, she told her that her judgment of Sir Brook was a mistaken one,--that in the world there lived not one more true-hearted, more generous, or more noble. “And where did you learn all this, young woman?” said the other, passionately. “In what temptations and trials of your life have these experiences been gained? Oh, don't be angry with me, dearest Lucy; forgive this rude speech of mine; my head is turning, and I know not what I say. Tell me, child, did this man speak to you of my husband?” “No.” “Nor of myself?” “Not a word. I don't believe he was aware that we were related to each other.” “He not aware? Why, it's his boast that he knows every one and every one's connections. You never heard him speak without this parade of universal acquaintanceship. But why did he come here? How did you happen to meet him?” “By the merest accident. Tom found him one day fishing the river close to our house, and they got to talk together; and it ended by his coming to us to tea. Intimacy followed very quickly, and then a close friendship.” “And do you mean to tell me that all this while he never alluded to us?” “Never.” “This is so unlike him,--so unlike him,” muttered she, half to herself. “And the last place you saw him,--where was it?” “Here in this house.” “Here! Do you mean that he came here to see you?” “No; he had some business with grandpapa, and called one morning, but he was not received. Grandpapa was not well, and sent Colonel Sewell to meet him.” “He sent my husband! And did he go?” “Yes.” “Are you sure of that?” “I know it.” “I never heard of this,” said she, holding her hands to her temples. “About what time was it?” “It was on Friday last. I remember the day, because it was the last time I saw poor Tom.”