CHAPTER XXXIII. — “PICKED UP ADRIFT.”
On the morning following two travelers left a small inn which lay on the road-side, about ten miles north of Brandon. It was about eight o’clock when they took their departure, driving in their own carriage at a moderate pace along the road.
“Look, Langhetti,” said the one who was driving, pointing with his whip to an object in the road directly in front of them.
Langhetti raised his head, which had been bowed down in deep abstraction, to look in the direction indicated. A figure was approaching them. It looked like a woman. She walked very slowly, and appeared rather to stagger than to walk.
“She appears to be drunk, Despard,” said Langhetti. “Poor wretch, and on this bleak March morning too! Let us stop and see if we can do any thing for her.”
They drove on, and as they met the woman Despard stopped.
She was young and extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was thin and white. Her clothing was of fine materials but scanty and torn to shreds. As they stopped she turned her large eyes up despairingly and stood still, with a face which seemed to express every conceivable emotion of anguish and of hope. Yet as her eyes rested on Langhetti a change came over her. The deep and unutterable sadness of her face passed away, and was succeeded by a radiant flash of joy. She threw out her arms toward him with a cry of wild entreaty.
The moment that Langhetti saw her he started up and stood for an instant as if paralyzed. Her cry came to his ears. He leaped from the carriage toward her, and caught her in his arms.