"
I relapsed into my chair.
"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an
officer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a
child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I
was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at
Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of
age. In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his
regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He
telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe, and
directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his
address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and
love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham, and was
informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had
gone out the night before and had not yet returned. I waited all
day without news of him. That night, on the advice of the
manager of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and next
morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no
result; and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of
my unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of hope,
to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" She put her
hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.
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