"What do you say to my getting leave of absence to visit England?" he said abruptly. The lady was half asleep, but she started up instantly on hearing these words. "O, Edgar, will you really go?" she said. "I think I must try to do so," said her husband. "And then we can make further inquiries about—about our darling Milly," said the lady, the tears welling up to her eyes as she spoke. "Yes, my dear, we can, certainly; but we must not be too sanguine about the result. Even if a child was saved from the wreck, it might not be ours. And then some years have passed since, and so many things might happen in two or three years." "Yes, many things," said the lady, meditatively; "but still I feel sure my child is living somewhere. O, I wonder where she can be?" The major shook his head. He had often heard his wife express this same strong feeling; but his own faith in ever seeing his child again was well-nigh gone now. He had hoped, almost against hope, until the present time; but now that another mail had come in, bringing him no intelligence whatever, this hope had died out. "I think I shall write to Mr. Mansfield at once," said Major Ferrers, after a few minutes silence. "And you will tell him we are coming to England to search for our little girl?" said his wife. "Yes, I think I must tell him all about it; for his letter is so different from anything I could ever have expected from him, that I feel bound to write as friendly as possible, and this will be something to tell him—something to write about." "How soon can we leave India, do you think?" asked the lady, as her husband arose from his seat. "Well, not for a month or two, certainly, my dear. But I shall set about making the needful preparations at once, and you had better do the same." Saying which, the gentleman left the room to commence the reply to his cousin's letter. CHAPTER X. "BLESSED ARE THE MEEK." "HERE is a letter—a letter from India, I do believe!" exclaimed Milly one morning, as she came into the breakfast room, and took up the thin light letter, with its strange foreign postmarks. She was all impatience for the doctor to make his appearance now. And when she heard him descending the stairs, she ran to meet him with it in her hand. "A letter!—A letter!" she shouted, dancing through the hall. "A letter from India, I'm sure." The doctor took it from her hand, and looked at it with eagerness. "It is from Edgar," he exclaimed, as he reached the breakfast room; "he lives, then!" And overpowered with emotion, he sunk into a chair and covered his face with his hands. After a short time, he recovered himself sufficiently to read his letter, but that part of it in which was communicated the loss of their little girl when on her way to England with her nurse, affected him even more deeply than the knowledge that his cousin was still living had done.