CHAPTER XI.
IN THE CRIMSON OF SUNSET.
Edward left the house without any definite idea of how he would carry on the search for the truth of his own history, but his determination was complete. He did not enter the dining-room, but called for his buggy and drove direct to the city. He wished to see neither Rita nor Gerald until the tumult within him had been stilled. His mind was yet in a whirl when without previous resolution he turned his horse in the direction of "The Hall" and let it choose its gait. The sun was low when he drew up before the white-columned house and entered the yard. Mary stood in the doorway and smiled a welcome, but as he approached she looked into his face in alarm.
"You have been ill?" she said, with quick sympathy.
"Do I look it?" he asked; "I have not slept well. Perhaps that shows upon me. It is rather dreary work this getting acquainted." He tried to deceive her with a smile.
"How ungallant!" she exclaimed, "to say that to me, and so soon after we have become acquainted."
"We are old acquaintances, Miss Montjoy," he replied with more earnestness than the occasion justified. "I knew you in Paris, in Rome, even in India—I have known you always." She blushed slightly and turned her face away as a lady appeared leading a little girl.
"Here is Mr. Morgan, Annie; you met him for a moment only, I believe."
The newcomer extended her hand languidly.
"Any one whom Norton is so enthusiastic about," she said, without warmth, "must be worth meeting a second time."