"Jeffco, see what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning." "At six-forty, Mr.Franklin." "Have me called at five." "Going abroad, sir ?" "Going, Jeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me." "Shall I tell your father, sir ?" "Yes; tell him at the end of the session." The next morning Mr.Franklin had started for foreign parts.

To what particular place he was bound, nobody (himself included) could presume to guess.

We might hear of him next in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America.
The chances were as equally divided as possible, in Mr.Jeffco's opinion, among the four quarters of the globe.
This news--by closing up all prospects of my bringing Limping Lucy and Mr.Franklin together--at once stopped any further progress of mine on the way to discovery.

Penelope's belief that her fellow-servant had destroyed herself through unrequited love for Mr.Franklin Blake, was confirmed--and that was all.

Whether the letter which Rosanna had left to be given to him after her death did, or did not, contain the confession which Mr.Franklin had suspected her of trying to make to him in her life-time, it was impossible to say.