He saw Lord Crosland set out in search of diversion; came back to his room, and sent Selina to her supper, while he watched over the child.

He sat by the window, looking up the river, and smoking, in an unhappy reverie.

Now and again he went and looked long at his sleeping boy.
When Selina came up from her supper he heard for the first time the story of his wife's death, and received her last message, which had been so long delivering.

It was no little comfort to him in this revival of sorrow to hear that she had learned of the accident which prevented him from coming to her, and, sure of their ultimate meeting, had come to bear patiently their separation.

And the knowledge that she must die without seeing him again had come to her in the merciful and indifferent weariness so often the forerunner of death.
When he had heard, and heard again, all that Selina could tell him, he gave her a cheque for five hundred pounds, putting aside her protestations that she had never looked for it, and would rather not have it, with the declaration that he had actually written out the advertisement offering that reward for information about his missing child, when she had brought it.
Long after she had gone to bed, he sat thinking over her story, immersed in unhappy memories and unavailing regrets, and his bitterness against his stepmother and uncle grew and grew in him at the ill treatment his child had endured through their interference and neglect, to a strength to which his own wrongs had never brought it.
The suppression and ignoring of Selina's last letters was inexplicable to him; he could only suppose that his stepmother had burnt them on reading only the signature; or had believed them to be the misrepresentations of a person trying to supplant Mrs.Bostock.