"There has been a visitor waiting for you these last two hours, Harriet."
"For me!" said Harriet, listlessly; and, dreaming not of so strange an intrusion on her home, she turned the handle of the door and entered the parlour. Then she stopped transfixed, scarcely believing her sight, scarcely realizing the idea that it was Maurice Darcy standing there before her in her father's house.
Maurice had risen.
"I fear that I have surprised you very much, Miss Wesden," said he, hoarsely; "that possibly this was not the best method of once again seeking a meeting with you. This time with your father's consent, at least."
"Sir, I do not comprehend; I cannot see that any valid reason has brought you to this house."
"I think it has—I hope it has."
"Impossible!"
"Miss Wesden, I have been relating a long story to your father—may I beg you to listen to me in your turn?"
"If it relate to the past, I must ask you to excuse me," was the cold reply.
"My guilty past it certainly relates to—I pray you for an honest hearing. Ah! Miss Wesden, you are afraid of me, still."