“Yes, father; she is here,” he cried; for there was the sound of wheels; and running to the window, he smiled grimly as he saw who descended from the cab.
“Might have stopped a little longer,” grumbled Poynter to himself. “It don’t matter; the game’s mine now. Damn!”
He started from his seat as he saw Rich enter the room, closely followed by Mark Heath and Janet, to whom Hendon hurried with outstretched hands, and after a little hesitation, two little dark well-mended gloves and their contents were placed in his strong grasp.
“Dearest father,” said Rich softly, as she hurried to the old man’s side.
“Ah,” he said, taking her hands, and fondling them, while a brighter smile came into his pleasant vacant face; “that’s better—that’s better. Here’s Mr—Mr—Mr—”
“Poynter, doctor,” said that individual, glad of an opportunity to remove his eyes from Mark’s, which were gazing at him rather inimically.
“Yes, yes, Mr Poynter come to see us, Rich.”
“And I have come to see you too, doctor,” said Mark. “You remember me?”
The doctor looked up at him keenly, and then shook his head, and, with a troubled look in his eyes.
“No,” he said. “No—no—no.”