When, therefore, Roger with some hesitation returned to the charge, he said, somewhat severely--
"You are old enough to decide for yourself, my boy. You know my view of the matter. I conclude you are not going alone?"
"Naturally. I wish you joy. On your return I shall be happy to resume my responsibility for your welfare. I cannot profess to feel oppressed by it in your absence."
This was enough. True, the captain contrived to get in a parting shot by announcing that Rosalind was likely to return shortly to Maxfield. But even that did not suffice to change the lad's purpose.
"Don't be very long away," said Jill to Mr Armstrong. "You are always going and leaving us. Rosalind will be very, very sorry to find you are away. She likes you--she told me so; but she doesn't like you half as much as I do."
"Oh," said Tom, "you're always spoons on somebody, Jill. I heard you tell that Duke chap you liked him better than anybody in the world."
"O Tom! how dare you tell such a wicked falsehood? I told him I liked him _nearly_ as much as Mr Armstrong, but not quite. Really I did, Mr Armstrong."
"I am very jealous of the Duke," said Mr Armstrong gravely.
Once across the Channel, Roger's spirits rose. He had a presentiment he was on the right track. Like a knight of old, set down to a desperate task, the fighting blood rose joyously within him. Whatever it cost, whoever deserted him, whoever opposed him, he would find his brother, and give to him his own.
For days they went hither and thither, inquiring at cafes, theatres, cabarets, custom-houses, police stations, and even cemeteries, without success. Most of the persons accosted laughed and shrugged their shoulders to be asked if they remembered the visit of strolling players to the town as far back as twenty years. Others bridled up suspiciously, as if the question were a preliminary to their detection in some old evil deed. Others utterly failed to comprehend the question; and a few pityingly tapped their own foreheads, and shook their heads at the two half-witted English holiday-makers. But no one could tell a word about Rogers.
A fortnight passed, and the thoughts of both, dispirited and worn, turned homeward. Rosalind, a letter had informed them, was back at Maxfield.