Randal’s generous nature felt the appeal that had been made to it. “Will you let me take your hand, Captain?” he said.
Captain Bennydeck was the first to speak again. That modest distrust of himself, which a man essentially noble and brave is generally the readiest of men to feel, seemed to be troubling him once more--just as it had troubled him when he first found himself in Randal’s presence.
“I hope you won’t think me vain,” he resumed; “I seldom say so much about myself as I have said to you.”
“I only wish you would say more,” Randal rejoined. “Can’t you put off your return to London for a day or two?”
The thing was not to be done. Duties which it was impossible to trifle with called the Captain back. “It’s quite likely,” he said, alluding pleasantly to the impression which he had produced in speaking of the Highlanders, “that I shall find more strangers to interest me in the great city.”
“Are they always strangers?” Randal asked. “Have you never met by accident with persons whom you may once have known?”
“Never--yet. But it may happen on my return.”
“In this way. I have been in search of a poor girl who has lost both her parents: she has, I fear, been left helpless at the mercy of the world. Her father was an old friend of mine--once an officer in the Navy like myself. The agent whom I formerly employed (without success) to trace her, writes me word that he has reason to believe she has obtained a situation as pupil-teacher at a school in the suburbs of London; and I am going back (among other things) to try if I can follow the clew myself. Good-by, my friend. I am heartily sorry to go!”
“Life is made up of partings,” Randal answered.
“And of meetings,” the Captain wisely reminded him. “When you are in London, you will always hear of me at the club.”
Heartily reciprocating his good wishes, Randal attended Captain Bennydeck to the door. On the way back to the drawing-room, he found his mind dwelling, rather to his surprise, on the Captain’s contemplated search for the lost girl.
Was the good man likely to find her? It seemed useless enough to inquire--and yet Randal asked himself the question. Her father had been described as an officer in the Navy. Well, and what did that matter? Inclined to laugh at his own idle curiosity, he was suddenly struck by a new idea. What had his brother told him of Miss Westerfield? _She_ was the daughter of an officer in the Navy; _she_ had been pupil-teacher at a school. Was it really possible that Sydney Westerfield could be the person whom Captain Bennydeck was attempting to trace? Randal threw up the window which overlooked the drive in front of the house. Too late! The carriage which had brought the Captain to Mount Morven was no longer in sight.