"First tell me," he went on, "how are they?" and he pointed upwards with
his thumb.
"My wife and two of the boys are beyond hope," my father answered, with
a groan. "I do not know how it will go with the third. The Lord's will
be done!"
"The Lord's will be done," the squire echoed, solemnly. "And now,
Quatermain, listen--my wife's gone."
"Gone!" my father answered. "Who with?"
"With that foreign cousin of hers. It seems from a letter she left me
that she always cared for him, not for me. She married me because she
thought me a rich English milord. Now she has run through my property,
or most of it, and gone. I don't know where. Luckily, she did not care
to encumber her new career with the child; Stella is left to me."
"That is what comes of marrying a papist, Carson," said my father. That
was his fault; he was as good and charitable a man as ever lived, but he
was bigoted. "What are you going to do--follow her?"
He laughed bitterly in answer.
"Follow her!" he said; "why should I follow her? If I met her I might
kill her or him, or both of them, because of the disgrace they have
brought upon my child's name.
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