Van Berg led her into a private parlor near. She certainly had grown very white and faint. But after a moment there came a flash of hope and eager expectation into her face that no words could have expressed.
"His name—his name?" she gasped.
Mr. Burleigh looked at her a second, and then said: "Stay quietly here, I'll bring him to you; and then, Mr. Van Berg, perhaps you and I might form an enormous crowd."
"Had I not better leave you at once?" the artist asked when they were alone.
"Wait a moment. I—I—am very weak. It cannot be—but hope dies hard."
Trembling like a leaf, and with eyes aflame with intense, eager hope, she watched the door.
A moment later Mr. Burleigh ushered in a middle-aged gentleman, who commenced saying:
"Pardon me, Miss Burton, for not sending my name, but you would not have known it"—then the young lady's appearance checked him.
The effect of his coming was indeed striking. It was as if a gust of wind had suddenly extinguished a lamp. The luminous eyes closed for a moment, and the face became so pallid and ashen in its hue as to suggest death. It was evident to Van Berg that her disappointment was more bitter than death.
"Miss Burton took a long walk this afternoon," he said, hastily, "and, I fear, went much beyond her strength. Perhaps she had better see you to-morrow."