'A curious and uncommon name.'
'Who do you say—Dulcie Carlyon?' exclaimed Hammersley, who had hitherto been silent, starting forward; and on the name being repeated to him once or twice, 'Great Heaven!' he exclaimed, 'if it should be the same!'
'Same what—or who?'
'The girl to whom Florian is engaged: you remember Florian of ours.'
'Of course I do.'
'Golden hair, blue eyes, under middle height (how often he has described her to me), and then the name—Dulcie Carlyon; it must be she—let us overtake her! What an astounding introduction!'
But that was easier proposed than accomplished. On gaining the street the two officers saw not a trace of Dulcie Carlyon, so all hope of discovering her address was gone.
How Dulcie made her way back to her obscure lodgings she scarcely knew; but she was long and seriously ill after this startling event.
There she felt as much at home as a creature so poor and friendless could feel. Often she lay abed and seemed unconscious, but she was not so. Her eyes were wide open, and their gaze wandered about; her lips were generally dry and quivering. She was in the state which generally comes after a severe mental shock; her mind refused to grasp the situation.
Until a drink was given her by Ellen, the kind little maid of all work, she sometimes knew not how parched her throat was—how sorely athirst she had been.