“How is this?” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “In tears?”
She looked up at him, and made room on the seat.
He sat down beside her.
“You are weeping,” he said.
“Oh, sir, you little know the miserable hours I pass when you are away, and I have no friend or counsellor—no one to sympathise with me. What am I to do? How am I to avoid exposure, disgrace, ignominy?”
She sobbed convulsively.
He endeavoured to pacify her, and to change the subject of her thoughts, gave her a succint account of Murdock’s attempt at escape, the injuries he had received therefrom, and his present condition.
“Poor fellow!” she exclaimed, when the narrative had been brought to a conclusion; “I can indeed sympathise with him, for I am in much the same position myself. Escape! Do you hear, my kind and benevolent friend—my saviour? If I could escape!”
As she uttered these last words in a low, hissing whisper she crept closer to him, placed her rich ruddy lips close to his ear and repeated them again and again.
He started and almost trembled.