"Where is the lady, sir?" he asked in rather a threatening manner, approaching the baggage master, who was a herculean fellow, with a clear blue eye, and that peculiar coolness of manner which is rather apt to characterize railroad men. "What has become of the lady?"
"The crazy lady?" asked the other, with a slight elevation of the eyebrows, but without removing his hands from his pockets. "She might have stepped into the other room. You can see if you like."
Mr. Hugo opened the door, but no lady was there, and he returned more wrathful than ever.
"Where is the lady?" he reiterated, absolutely foaming with rage. "What have you done with her?"
"Mr.," said Mr. Brown, "I hav'nt done anything with her myself, but a gentleman of my acquaintance called and took her away. She seemed glad enough to go, poor thing. He said it was all right, and left a message to you."
"What message, you villain?" demanded the enraged Frenchman.
"He said you were a scoundrel," said Mr. Brown, adding an expletive which certainly Mr. Fletcher had never made use of, "and I am much of that opinion myself."
Mr. Hugo shook his fist in the man's face.
The baggage master took his hands out of his pockets, and in another moment, the professor found himself sprawling on his face in a mud puddle outside the station room door.
Meantime Mr. Fletcher pursued his way homeward, walking rapidly and almost carrying Delia, who could scarcely support herself, and stumbled continually. He did not speak, except to encourage her as she looked back evidently in deadly fear of being pursued. Her hands grew lighter, as the distance between them and the station increased, and when they reached the seminary gate she felt comparatively safe.