CHAPTER XII—AIDEE AND CAMILLLA
ALCOTT came back to the city in the afternoon. At four o'clock he was on Lower Bank Street, knocking at Henry Champney's door.
“Is Miss Camilla Champney in?”
The startled maid stared at him and showed him into the library, where Henry Champney's shelves of massive books covered the lower walls, and over them hung the portraits of Webster, Clay, and Quincy Adams with solemn, shining foreheads.
He walked up and down, twisting his fingers, stopping now and then to listen for Camilla's steps. She came soon.
“I'm so glad you're here! I want to ask——” She stopped, caught a quick breath, and put her hand to her throat.
“What is it?”
Alcott's face was white and damp, and his black eyes stared at her. He stood very still.
“What is it?” she asked.