“Where to, if you please, sir?” inquired the hackman, touching his hat, as he held the door open in his hand.
“Wait a moment,” replied young Lindsay; and then he bent forward and whispered to Gloria:
“You have been here before, and know the place. What hotel do you prefer?”
“Uncle and I stopped at Brown’s. It was good enough, I suppose. I know nothing about the others, except that some of them looked better on the outside,” replied Gloria.
“Brown’s Hotel,” was the order the young man gave to the hack-driver, who remounted to his box and drove off.
David Lindsay had never been in any city in his life, and, therefore, he was much more pleased with his first sight of Washington than strangers usually are.
“There is the Capitol!” he exclaimed, looking out of the window on the east side. “I know it by the picture, which is very faithful,” he added.
“Yes,” replied Gloria, scarcely knowing what she said, so troubled was her spirit.
The youth looked at her wistfully, doubtfully, sorrowfully. Then he dropped his eyes and voice to the deepest expression of reverential tenderness, and said:
“Miss de la Vera, do you repent this trust you are about to repose in me? If you do, oh, speak! I am yours to do you service. To secure your happiness in any way I may be permitted to do so! To attend you all through life, if I may be so blessed—or, if not, to take you safely wherever you would go, and leave you forever, if this should be your will,” he added, as his voice broke down with emotion.