“No, dear soul. I must take her with me.”
“But, Mr. William, she would embarrass you, going on such a journey.”
“I might have an opportunity of restoring her to her friends. In any case, dear heart, I feel a certain responsibility connected with that child which I cannot explain or even understand. I must take her with me and watch for an opportunity of restoring her to her friends.”
“And about that letter, Mr. William?”
“If one should come, forward it to me.”
“Yes, but please write out the address in full, for I am the worst hand in the world to remember names and places.”
Harcourt took a lead pencil from his pocket, found a piece of paper in his table drawer, and wrote the following address: Mr. W. Williams, care of Mr. W. Harcourt, Logwood, Alleghany County, Maryland.
“Now, Annie,” he said, as he gave her the slip of paper, “I will not keep you up any longer. Good-night! God bless you!”
He went into his own room, but did not light his lamp or retire to bed. He dropped into his chair, buried his face in his hands, and murmured:
“It has come! It has come! The awful crisis of my life has come at last!”