“By all means, and I will warn Babette, you may be sure. Must you go how?”
“It is growing dark, I think. Yes, I must go. So good night, Cousin Cyprien.”
“Are you alone? My child, it is not well for you to be alone in the street at this hour.”
“It was not dark when I came. It is only a little way. I am not afraid.”
“Well, be sure and come again. Good night, my child.”
“I will see Miss Vane safely home, I have something to say to her,” said a voice from the darkness. Frederica with great difficulty suppressed a cry as Mr Jerome stepped forward.
“Is it you, my brother? Ah, well, she need not be in haste, though it is growing dark. You will see her safely home.”
But Frederica bent hastily over Mr St. Cyr’s hand.
“Good night, Cousin Cyprien. I do not fear the dark,” said she; “but I do fear Mr Jerome,” added she, in an undertone, as she sprang out of the room and down the stairs. She sped along the street like one pursued by an enemy. But Mr Jerome did not follow her across the threshold. He lingered a moment, looking out after her, and then went up through the darkness to his brother’s room.
“And so Theresa St. Hubert is gone!” said Mr St. Cyr, as he entered the room, which was no longer dark.