Nell stared at the black, seemingly honest face in wonder. Of a sudden the memory of the adventure in the basement on Clark street came to the girl as a light from a clouded sky. She had indeed been under a cloud for a long time, and had no means of judging of the passage of time.
What had happened during all this while? What fate had been her brother's? A feeling of deepest anxiety filled the girl's breast. Ere she could find voice for more words, however, the door opened and a man entered the room.
A low, alarmed cry fell from the lips of Nell Darrel.
Before her stood Harper Elliston, smiling and plucking at his beard, which was but a mere stubble now, he having shaved since she had met him last.
"Ah, Nell, you are looking bright; I trust that you feel better. You have been very sick. How does your head feel?"
For the first time the girl realized that there was a sore spot under her hair at the side of her head. She touched it with her hand, and seemed surprised.
"You have forgotten, doubtless," he said. "You were rescued from a band of villains nearly a fortnight since. It seems that one of them must have fired at you, since there was a slight wound where you just put your hand, that was doubtless made by a bullet."
Nell Darrel was beginning to remember the scene in the cellar.
"I was rescued, you say? Who were the rescuers?"
"Myself among others. I think you may safely acknowledge that you owe your life to me," said the New Yorker coolly.