He had been through a good deal that day, and by the time he reached his hotel he was quite worn out. The night porter who admitted him noticed his haggard appearance.
“You don’t look very well, sir,” he said, sympathetically; “is there anything I can do for you?”
“If you could manage to get me a brandy and soda, I should be very much obliged,” Godfrey said, as he dropped into one of the seats in the hall.
“I will do so with pleasure, sir,” the man replied, and disappeared at once in search of the refreshment, which he very soon brought back. Godfrey drank it off, and then announced his intention of proceeding at once to bed.
“Poor little Teresina!” he said to himself as he wound up his watch; “poor little girl, it seems a shame that she should suffer so!”
Little did he guess that at that moment Teresina’s troubles were over, that she would never know sorrow or poverty again.
Next morning he returned to Detwich by an early train. Though he had only been absent from it a little more than twenty-four hours, it seemed to him that he had been away for years.
“You look tired out, Godfrey,” said his mother, as they stood together in the hall.
“I did not have a very good night last night,” he said, “and I had a hard day’s running about yesterday. That is all. You needn’t worry about me, mother; I’m as strong as a horse.”
He went on to tell his mother of his meeting with Fensden, and informed her that the latter intended coming to stay with them next day.