Clasping her hands, she murmured:
“Poor, dear papa! Who shall tell him this?”
And then struggled for composure till her sobs became hysterical.
She was in no condition to walk home, and at the command of the stranger the lieutenant’s servant fetched a cab, to which, with the respectful tenderness of a brother, he supported her trembling steps.
She tried to command her voice to thank him, but in vain. He understood her, however.
“Hush—hush! I have done nothing. I came too late. But if Godfrey Mason ever crosses my path, I will avenge your wrongs, Miss Heriton, and my own!”
Startled by the emphasis with which he spoke, and a certain something in his tones which thrilled through her and awoke long-forgotten memories, Florence for the first time looked fully in his face; but those knitted brows, that dark skin, and the profuse masses of curly beard and mustache which covered the lower part of it, baffled her endeavor to recall when and where she had seen it before. And the gentleman, as soon as he caught her quick, eager glance, drew his low-crowned hat down over his eyes, and, signaling the driver to proceed quickly, retreated, as if desirous of avoiding recognition.
Once on her way home, the bitter energy of his last words and all else concerning him was forgotten in the more pressing thought of how Lieutenant Mason’s flight was to be revealed to her father.
She grew sick with dread as she pictured the state of mind into which he would be thrown when no longer able to delude himself with false hopes. Dismissing the vehicle at the end of the street, she walked slowly toward her own residence; but when her hand would have raised the knocker her heart sank again, and, crossing the road, she went to the lodgings of Susan Denham.
Here she could bathe her eyes, and, perhaps, from that kind friend’s sympathy and counsels, gain strength to bear with her father’s passionate grief.