'Hush!' whispered I. 'Conduct me in silence from the theatre.'
He put my hand under his arm, and hurried me away. When we had gained the street:
'You may perceive by my lameness,' said he, 'that I am not yet well of the wound I received the night I met you on the Common. But I could not refrain from accompanying your father to Town, in search of you; and as I heard nothing of him since he went to your lodgings yesterday, I called there myself this evening, and was told that you had gone to the theatre. They could give me no information about your father, but of course, you have seen him since he came to Town.'
'I have not, I assure you,' said I, an evasive, yet conscientious answer, because Wilkinson is not my real father.
'That is most extraordinary,' cried he, 'for he left the hotel yesterday, to call on you. But tell me candidly, Miss Wilkinson, what tempted you to leave home? How are you situated at present? with whom? and what is your object?'
'Alas!' said I, 'a horrible mystery hangs over me, which I dare not now develop. It is enough, that in flying from one misfortune, I have plunged into a thousand others, that peace has fled from my heart, and that I am ruined.'
'Ruined!' exclaimed he, with a look of horror.
'Past redemption,' said I, hiding my face in my hands.
'This will be dreadful news for your poor father,' said he. 'But I beg of you to tell me the particulars.'
'Then to be brief,' answered I, 'the first night I came to Town, a gentleman decoyed me into his house, and treated me extremely ill.'