“Where are you going?”
“To pier sixteen, East River.”
“What in heaven are you going there for?”
“The Cuban steamer.”
“The Cuban steamer?”
“Have you forgotten? Duval is a Cuban. I know now who told Rose of a land all sunshine and flowers—and misery and cruelty,” she added passionately, as she ran to her room with a hurry that sent Harry to the stables with equal haste.
When the carriage came to the door, Adriana was waiting. Harry was stepping, to her side, but she shook her head positively. “You must go for Antony,” she said. “Bring him to the steamer. It is the only way.”
At a very rapid pace the carriage was driven to the foot of Wall Street. It was, however, to Adriana a tedious journey, and often interrupted; and she sat wringing her hands in impotent impatience at every delay. When she reached the pier, she found herself in all the tumult and hurry that attends a departing steamer; but the gangway was clear, and she went straight on board The Orizaba. The first persons she saw were Duval and Rose. They were leaning over the taffrail, with their backs to Adriana, and Duval was talking impetuously, holding Rose’s hand in his own. Her attitude was reluctant and hesitating, and when Adriana said, “Excuse me, Mr. Duval, I have come for Mrs. Van Hoosen,” Rose turned with a sharp cry, and put her hand in Yanna’s.
“Pardon, madame,” answered Duval in a passion, “Mrs. Van Hoosen chooses to remain with me.”