"Indeed I am sorry to have grieved you; but if the man is in
London, and can be traced--"
"In London!" she interrupted.
"He was in London last autumn, as I believe--living there."
An expression of relief passed over her features that was quite
perceptible to Lord Hartledon.
"I should not like to hear of his coming near us," she sighed, dropping
her voice to a whisper. "London: that's pretty far off."
"I suppose you are anxious to bring him to justice, Mrs. Gum?"
"No, sir, not now; neither me nor Gum," shaking her head. "Time was,
sir--my lord--that I'd have walked barefoot to see him hanged; but the
years have gone by; and if sorrow's not dead, it's less keen, and we'd be
thankful to let the past rest in peace. Oh, my lord, _don't_ rake him up
again!"
The wild, imploring accents quite startled Lord Hartledon.
"You need not fear," he said, after a pause. "I do not care to see Gordon
hanged either; and though I want to trace his present abode--if it can be
traced--it is not with a view to injuring him."
"But we don't know his abode, my lord," she rejoined in faint
remonstrance.
"I did not suppose you knew it. All I want to ask your husband is, to
give me a description of Gordon. I wish to see if it tallies with--with
some one I once knew," he cautiously concluded. "Perhaps you remember
what the man was said to be like?"
She put her fingers up to her brow, leaning her elbow on the table.
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