"What has happened?" I cried. "What is amiss, Mordaunt?"
"My father!" he gasped--"my father!"
His hat was gone, his eyes dilated with terror, and his face as
bloodless as that of a corpse. I could feel that the hands which
clasped my arms were quivering and shaking with emotion.
"You are exhausted," I said, leading him into the parlour. "Give
yourself a moment's rest before you speak to us. Be calm, man,
you are with your best friends."
I laid him on the old horsehair sofa, while Esther, whose fears had all
flown to the winds now that something practical was to be done, dashed
some brandy into a tumbler and brought it to him. The stimulant had a
marvellous effect upon him, for the colour began to come back into his
pale cheeks and the light of recognition in his eyes,
He sat up and took Esther's hand in both of his, like a man who is
waking out of some bad dream and wishes to assure himself that he is
really in safety.
"Your father?" I asked. "What of him?"
"He is gone."
"Gone!"
"Yes; he is gone; and so is Corporal Rufus Smith. We shall never set
eyes upon them again."
"But where have they gone?" I cried. "This is unworthy of you,
Mordaunt. What right have we to sit here, allowing our private
feelings to overcome us, while there is a possibility of succouring your
father? Up, man! Let us follow him. Tell me only what direction he
took."
"It's no use," young Heatherstone answered, burying his face in his
hands.
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