And what happened then—well, that which usually happens when all that we yearn for seems to be within our grasp—she flitted away into the shadows, away back to her enchanted castle in the mountains. I did not see Pauline for many a weary day after that. In the ordinary course of things that happen on man’s inky ways, she should from this point keep slipping into my pages with delightful continuity. But, alas! I am only telling the facts of the case.
About two days after the foregoing events Uncle Sam, Grimes and a few more impecunious gentlemen were walking along the beach near the Broom Road when suddenly the old American said: “Hello! What’s that?” There in the shade of the bamboos, right in front of their eyes, stood Waylao.
“Hello, girlie,” said Uncle Sam. “Waal, I reckon you’ve run across the right sort.”
The old Yankee’s voice was thick with emotion as he stared at the trembling girl.
“Come here, gal; you look ill. What ’ave they been doing to you? Not ’elping yer in trouble, I knows, eh?”
The concerned gaze on the rough face before her and the note of kindness in the voice was too much for Waylao—she burst into tears.
“Oh, take me away, hide me,” she wailed.
Uncle Sam took the girl by the hand and led her away.
“I’ll be ’sponsible for yer,” said the old American.