“I must find her. I must find her,” said Langhetti, speaking half to himself. “I am weak; but much can be done by a resolute will.” “Perhaps Mr. Thornton can assist you,” said Despard. Langhetti shook his head. “No; he is a man of law, and does not understand the man who acts from feeling. I can be as logical as he, but I obey impulses which are unintelligible to him. He would simply advise me to give up the matter, adding, perhaps, that I would do myself no good. Whereas he can not understand that it makes no difference to me whether I do myself good or not; and again, that the highest good that I can do myself is to seek after her.” Mrs. Thornton looked at Despard, but he avoided her glance. “No,” said Langhetti, “I will ask assistance from another--from you, Despard. You are one who acts as I act. Come with me.” “When?” “To-morrow morning.” “I will.” “Of course you will. You would not be a Despard if you did not. You would not be the son of your father--your father!” he repeated, in thrilling tones, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. “Despard!” he cried, after a pause, “your father was a man whom you might pray to now. I saw him once. Shall I ever forget the day when he calmly went to lay down his life for my father? Despard, I worship your father’s memory. Come with me. Let us emulate those two noble men who once before rescued a captive. We can not risk our lives as they did. Let us at least do what we can.” “I will do exactly what you say. You can think and I will act.” “No, you must think too. Neither of us belong to the class of practical men whom the world now delights to honor; but no practical man would go on our errand. No practical man would have rescued my father. Generous and lofty acts must always be done by those who are not practical men.” “But I must go out. I must think,” he continued. “I will go and walk about the grounds.” Saying this he left the room. “Where is Edith Brandon?” asked Despard, after he had gone. “She is here,” said Mrs. Thornton. “Have you seen her?” “Yes.” “Is she what you anticipated?” “More. She is incredible. She is almost unearthly. I feel awe of her, but not fear. She is too sweet to inspire fear.” CHAPTER XXXII. FLIGHT. The last entry in Beatrice’s journal was made by her in the hope that it might be the last. In her life at Brandon Hall her soul had grown stronger and more resolute. Besides, it had now come to this, that henceforth she must either stay and accept the punishment which they might contrive or fly instantly. For she had dared them to their faces; she had told them of their crimes; she had threatened punishment. She had said that she was the avenger of Despard. If she had desired instant death she could have said no more than that. Would they pass it by? She knew their secret--the secret of secrets; she had proclaimed it to their faces. She had called Potts a Thug and disowned him as her father; what now remained?