By this time Uncle Silas had raised himself from his reclining posture, and
was sitting, gaunt and white, upon the sofa.
'News of my prodigal to-day,' he said, with a peevish smile, drawing the
newspaper towards him. 'The vessel has been spoken again. How many miles
away, do you suppose?'
He spoke in a plaintive key, looking at me, with hungry eyes, and a
horribly smiling countenance.
'How far do you suppose Dudley is to-day?' and he laid the palm of his hand
on the paragraph as he spoke. _Guess_!'
For a moment I fancied this was a theatric preparation to give point to the
disclosure of Dudley's real whereabouts.
'It was a very long way. Guess!' he repeated.
So, stammering a little and pale, I performed the required hypocrisy, after
which my uncle read aloud for my benefit the line or two in which were
recorded the event, and the latitude and longitude of the vessel at the
time, of which Madame made a note in her memory, for the purpose of making
her usual tracing in poor Milly's Atlas.
I cannot say how it really was, but I fancied that Uncle Silas was all
the time reading my countenance, with a grim and practised scrutiny; but
nothing came of it, and we were dismissed.
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