"To Mr. Powers," answered Miss Trevor. "Powers, yes, Powers. A good man and a kind—yes, man, indeed, man."
"Is he the kind of a one—a banker, I mean," said Hannah, "that would give you a note for gold—golden guineas?"
Miss Trevor looked at her suspiciously for one moment. Was this a trap? Was this friendly person, who was seemingly as much at sea as she was herself in this wilderness of business streets and crowd of business men, some swindler in petticoats, some decoy who would lead her where she might be robbed of all she had about her that was valuable, of the really precious contents of that shabby, worn satchel? The bare idea of such a thing was enough to lend wings of terror to Miss Trevor's feet; and she was about to dart away from Hannah's side when the hand of the latter in its turn arrested her, giving, if possible, new force to the fears of the old lady.
"What did I come for?" she ejaculated, "yes, come. I wish I was back in Sylvandale—yes, Sylvandale, indeed, 'dale."
"Sylvandale!"
The name had a familiar—since the events of the last few days, an unpleasantly familiar sound to Hannah, and she gave a little start.
"Sylvandale," she repeated; "do you know Sylvandale?"
But again her inquiry only provoked increased alarm in the breast of Miss Trevor. She had heard of swindlers pretending to know of places and people belonging to those whom they would victimize; and had not Hannah's hold upon her been firm she would have wrenched herself free and fled.
Hannah repeated her question in a rather different form and with an addition.
"Do you come from Sylvandale? And you maybe know Dr. Leacraft's school? An' you maybe 'ave seen my boy, Master Percy Neville, my boy that I nursed?"