“Dear boy, I know it, but I can’t give it. I thirst for information. What do I mean? If my taking so much trouble to recover her does not mean that I care for her, what does it mean? ‘If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper, where’s the peck, etc. ?’ ”
Though he said this gaily, he said it with a perplexed and inquisitive face, as if he actually did not know what to make of himself. “Look on to the end—” Lightwood was beginning to remonstrate, when he caught at the words:
“Ah! See now! That’s exactly what I am incapable of doing. How very acute you are, Mortimer, in finding my weak place! When we were at school together, I got up my lessons at the last moment, day by day and bit by bit; now we are out in life together, I get up my lessons in the same way. In the present task I have not got beyond this:—I am bent on finding Lizzie, and I mean to find her, and I will take any means of finding her that offer themselves. Fair means or foul means, are all alike to me. I ask you—for information—what does that mean? When I have found her I may ask you—also for information—what do I mean now? But it would be premature in this stage, and it’s not the character of my mind.”
Lightwood was shaking his head over the air with which his friend held forth thus—an air so whimsically open and argumentative as almost to deprive what he said of the appearance of evasion—when a shuffling was heard at the outer door, and then an undecided knock, as though some hand were groping for the knocker. “The frolicsome youth of the neighbourhood,” said Eugene, “whom I should be delighted to pitch from this elevation into the churchyard below, without any intermediate ceremonies, have probably turned the lamp out. I am on duty tonight, and will see to the door.”
His friend had barely had time to recall the unprecedented gleam of determination with which he had spoken of finding this girl, and which