She had to walk a little distance before she met a hansom, and one or two people stared at the tall, slim figure, which was still young and girlish, but which bore on its proud face such a hard expression, such a burning defiant light in the eyes. Valentine soon reached home. Everything was in a whirl in her brain. Esther Helps was standing on the steps. She flew to Esther, clasped her hands in a grasp of iron, and said in a husky choked voice:—
"Esther, my husband is alive!"
"He is, dear madam, he is, and I have come to take you to him!"
"Oh, Esther, thank God!"
"Come indoors, madam, you have not a moment to lose. We will keep that cab, if you please. I have only just come back. I was going to seek you. Stay one moment. Mrs. Wyndham. You are in black; will you put on your white dress—the one you wore on Tuesday night."
"Oh, what does it matter? Let me go to him."
"Little things sometimes matter a great deal; he saw you last in your white dress."
"He was really there on Tuesday night?"
"He was there. Come, I will fly for the dress and put it on you."
She did so. Valentine put her cloak over it, and the two drove away in the hansom. Valentine had no ears for the direction given to the cabman.