Mary Braddock approached, apparently unconscious of the presence of either of her old associates. She walked beside a decrepit old gentleman whom David at once surmised to be Albert Portman. A maid and a male attendant followed close behind. Christine was not in sight.
Mrs. Braddock saw Grand when not more than half a dozen paces separated them. She almost stopped in her tracks. David detected the look of surprise and dismay in her face. She and Grand were staring hard at each other, but neither made the slightest pretense of anything more than visual recognition. She averted her gaze after a moment of uncertainty, and, with her head erect, passed close by the Colonel and his daughter, both of whom were scrutinizing her with brazen interest.
She did not see David Jenison, although he might have touched her by moving two steps forward. Disconcerted by the rude, insolent stare that was leveled jointly by her old enemy and his daughter, a vivid flush mantled her cheek and brow.
Time had made few changes in her appearance. Her face was softer, gentler if possible; her carriage was as erect and as proud as ever. She was modestly, unobtrusively attired, as David expected she would be.
After she had passed, the young man turned his attention again to the crowd, his nerves jumping with eagerness. Christine was sure to be not far behind her mother.
He saw her at last, a laggard at the end of the hurrying procession. She passed close by him. He stood motionless, seeing no one else, thinking of no one but this slim, adorable girl who had no eyes for him. At her side strode a tall, good-looking fellow whose manner toward her could be mistaken for nothing short of simple adoration.
She was smiling brightly, even rapturously up into the eyes of this eager swain. In another instant they were lost in the crowd that rushed to the ferry, but David was never to forget that passing glimpse of her—not to the day of his death.
She was all that his fondest dreams, all that his fairest prophecies, had promised—nay, she surpassed them!
The pure, girlish face—the one of the deep, earnest eyes and tender lips—had been toned and perfected and rechiseled by the magic hand of Time. She was taller by several inches; a lissome creature who moved with the sureness and grace of an almost exalted symmetry.
His dazzled, gleaming eyes followed her into the vortex below. A vast wave of exultation suddenly rushed over him. He had held her in his arms—he had kissed this beautiful, joyous creature—this product of enchantment! Now, more than ever, was he resolved to claim her for his own. It was as good as settled, in his enraptured mind! Nothing could keep her from him now. He had loved her, he had waited for her, and he would have her in spite of everything.