Vere-Manville at Nettlestead or in London--at
least I will go there--at once."
"Then you will waste your time, sir. Diana has disappeared."
"Disappeared? Ah, you mean she has gone--run away? Pray, my lord, pray
when--when did she go?"
His lordship looked at me keenly a while and when he spoke his voice
seemed less harsh:
"The news would seem to disturb you, sir?"
"Beyond words, sir. Henceforth I shall know little rest until I find
her. Pray when did she leave you--and how?"
"She fled--yesterday morning--stole from Wyvelstoke before
daybreak--she was seen by one of the keepers stealing away in the
dawn. She fled away to--hide her grief--leaving behind all her jewels
and--a very--solitary, very old--man. She was all I had--my comrade,
my Penthesilea--my loved daughter--"
His lordship's voice broke upon the word, his usually upright figure
seemed suddenly bowed and shrunken, he looked indeed a very
grief-stricken, decrepit old man as he stood fumbling in the pockets
of his shabby coat, whence he presently drew a letter that shook and
rustled in his fingers as he unfolded it.
"She left this also, sir," he continued with an evident effort, "pray
read it--you will find some mention of--breaking hearts the which
should interest you a little--read it, sir!"
So I took the letter and saw it was this:
DEAREST PAL AND NOBLEST OF MEN:
My poor heart is breaking, I think, and knowing how true I and deep is
your love for me I would not have you see my pain.
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