“Mr George Harrington.”
“Who’s that? What’s that?” cried Saul Harrington sharply, as he saw by Gertrude’s agitation that there was something particular on the way.
“It’s Master George come, sir,” said the old housekeeper.
“What?” he roared; and his face turned sallow. “Impossible!”
Gertrude stood trembling, with the card in her hand, the name thereon seeming to play strange tricks, and growing larger and then dying away, till it seemed to be hidden in a mist, while a chaos of thoughts ran confusedly through her brain. At one moment she looked upon the coming of this stranger with dread, for a stranger he was to her; the next her heart began to beat, and her cheeks flushed, as she recalled that he was her affianced husband, and that he had come to protect her from this man, and that henceforth she would be safe.
She was brought back to the present by the old housekeeper, who, for the second time, touched her arm.
“Miss Gertrude, ma’am, don’t you hear me?” she said. “What shall I tell him?”
“I—I—”
“Stop!” cried Saul sharply. “You are a young unprotected girl, and as the executors are not here, Gertie, I look upon it as my duty to see after your welfare. How do we know that this is George Harrington? Let me look at that card.”
He snatched the card from the trembling girl’s fingers, and scowled as he read the inscription, though he could gather nothing from that.