Wrapped in a horrible spell, Camperdown gazed silently at her for a few minutes. Then he slammed the door together, and rushing down the crazy steps at imminent risk of breaking his limbs, quickly found himself in the street.
“O God,” he said, putting up one of the most fervent prayers of his life, when he stood once more under the clear, cold canopy of heaven, and lifted his eyes to the first twinkling stars of the evening, “keep my pure, white lily from a knowledge of this!”
He had left Polypharmacy on the opposite side of the street. As he crossed over to him, and lifted his weight to put in the sleigh he noticed a little, lonely figure, that moved away from the horse at his approach, and leaning against the wire fence that bounds the Citadel Hill, watched him silently.
“Zeb,” he exclaimed, peering at her in the half light; “is that you?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, but without moving.
“Come here, little girl,” he said with great tenderness in his voice, “and get in the sleigh with me.”
Without a word of demur the child took her seat beside him, and allowed him to wrap the wolfskin rug around her.
“Am glad I met you,” he said. “Have just been seeing your mother. She says you may come and live with me, if you choose. Will you, little Zeb?”
He was not by any means a nervous man, but he shivered at the look the child gave him. She wished to know whether he was in earnest.
“My house is lonely,” he said; “I want a little girl to make it cheerful. You will come, won’t you?”