but since then--I am a fool to even dream of such a thing, and
yet,--only for that faint hope I would have gone mad long ago!"

Indeed, he looked little less than insane as it was.



CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE.

This was the idea that occurred to both uncle and nephews, but
they had seen and heard enough to excuse all that, and Professor
Featherwit spoke again, in mildly curious tones:

"Sorry I am unable to give you better tidings, my good friend,
but, so far as my knowledge extends, nothing has come to light of
recent years. And--if not a leading question--were those
passengers friends of your own?"

"Only--merely my--my wife and little daughter," came the totally
unexpected reply, followed by a forced laugh which sounded
anything but mirthful.

Uncle Phaeton, intensely chagrined, hastened to apologise for his
luckless break, but Cooper Edgecombe cut him short, asking that
the matter be let drop for the time being.

"I will talk; I feel that I must tell you all, or lose what few
wits I have left," he declared, huskily. "But not right now. It
is growing late. You must be hungry. I have no very extensive
larder, but with my little will go the gratitude of a man who--"