A faint knock at the door.
"Come in," said Dick, without rising from his chair.
A female entered. She was dressed in black. A thick veil hid her features, but her bent figure denoted age and weariness. She slowly closed the door.
"Is it here where a young American lives with this name?"
She held out a card. It was his name, his card. He had only given it to one person in Rome, and that one was Pepita.
"Oh!" cried Dick, rising, his whole expression changing from sadness to eager and beseeching hope, "oh, if you know where she is--where I may find her--"
The female raised her form, then with a hand that trembled excessively she slowly lifted her veil. It was a face not old and wrinkled but young and lovely, with tearful eyes downcast, and cheeks suffused with blushes.
With an eager cry Dick bounded from his chair and caught her in his arms. Not a word was spoken. He held her in a strong embrace as though he would not let her go. At last he drew her to a seat beside him, still holding her in his arms.
"I could not stay away. I led you into misfortune. Oh, how you have suffered. You are thin and wan. What a wretch am I! When you see me no more will you forgive me?"
"Forgive!" and Dick replied in a more emphatic way than words afford.