But before she reached the hotel she began to grow excessively weary. She had not only overtaxed her powers of endurance, but had over-estimated them.
At last, as she was about to ask her companions to walk more slowly, lest she should be left alone by the roadside in her weakness, she heard the sound of strong, rapid steps.
"Where is Miss Mayhew?" was the anxious query of a voice that made her heart bound and color come into her face, even at the moment of almost mortal weakness and weariness.
"Here is Miss Mayhew," said one of the half-grown youths. "She prefers to walk by herself, it seems."
"Thank you," replied Van Berg, decisively. "I will see her safely home;" and the part went on, leaving him face to face with the maiden whom he now believed he had very greatly wronged, and who, he feared might yet proved herself capable of a terrible crime.
She stood before him with bowed head. In her weakness and agitation she trembled so violently that even in the starlight he could not help seeing her distress, and it filled him at once with pity and alarm.
"You are ill, Miss Mayhew," he said, anxiously.
"Yes," she answered; then, conscious of her growing need, she said, appealingly, "Mr. Van Berg, with all my faults I am at least a woman. Please help me home. I'm so weak and weary that I'm almost ready to faint."
He seized her hand and faltered hoarsely, "Miss Mayhew, you have not—you have not taken that drug—-"
She was so vividly conscious of her own dark secret, and so impressed by his power to discover all the evil in her nature, that she replied in a low tone,