“And what did he tell you?” inquired Mr. Harris. “If it is no secret?”
“He told me that it is common talk that she was found in the cabin with Constance at the time of Dorothy’s rescue by her father, having just rewarded the Italian for abducting the child, and that they both swooned when uncle found them there.”
“Lord Beauchamp must have been misinformed,” broke in Mr. Harris, with a grave face. “If such were the case Sam would have told me. All idle tattle—mischievous gossip!”
“Ah! Mr. Thorpe and Dorothy!”
“Oh, darling!” exclaimed Hazel, and she gathered the child in her arms, kissed her, and flew off to the house with her.
“Well, John, I am glad to meet you again,” shaking his hand, “though to tell the truth, I did not expect you.”
“It has cost me bitter memories, Mr. Harris.”
“I have long since discovered,” continued Mr. Harris, “that while time cannot heal a deep-rooted sorrow, it softens many of its asperities. When do you depart for the East?”
“I have made arrangements to leave tomorrow.”
“You are doing just what would prompt any man in like position to do. I trust we shall hear from you occasionally.”