"You promise that?"
"What else is left me? My guardian shall know nothing from me until I can hear from my mother, to whom I shall write this night. Do not detain me. My absence will excite suspicion."
"Good-bye, my daughter."
He held out his hand.
She looked at him, and her lips writhed as she tried to contemplate for an instant the bare possibility that after all he might be her parent. She forced herself to hold out her left hand which was gloved, but he had scarcely grasped her fingers, when she snatched them back, turned and darted away, while he called after her:
"This time to-morrow. Don't fail."
The glory of the world, and the light of her young life had suddenly been extinguished, and fearful spectres vague and menacing thronged the future. Death appeared a mere trifle in comparison with the lifelong humiliation, perhaps disgrace, that was in store for her; and bitterly she demanded of fate, why she had been reared so tenderly, so delicately, in an atmosphere of honour and refinement, if destined to fall at last into the hands of that coarse vicious man? The audacity of his claim almost overwhelmed her faint hope that some infamous imposture was being practised at her expense; and the severity of the shock, the intensity of her mental suffering, rendered her utterly oblivious of everything else.
At another time she would doubtless have heard and recognized a familiar step that followed her from the moment she quitted the square; but to-day, almost stupefied, she hurried along the pavement, mechanically turning the corners, looking neither to right nor left.
Fifth Avenue was a long way off, and it was late in the afternoon when she reached home, and ran up to her own room, anxious to escape observation.
Hattie was arranging some towels on the washstand, and turning around, exclaimed: