When they were comfortably seated and she had leisure to examine him more closely, she found him to be a tall, athletic, good-natured looking young man, betraying but little refinement either in personal appearance or manner, but manifesting in all he did a kind, noble heart, which won her good opinion at once. Greatly he wondered who she was and whence she came, but he refrained asking her any questions, thinking he should know the whole if he waited. It seemed to Marian a long, long ride, and she was beginning to wonder if it would never end, when Ben touched her arm and signified that they were to alight.
“Come right down this street a rod or so and we’re there,” said he, and following whither he led, Marian was soon climbing a long, narrow stairway to the third story of what seemed to her a not very pleasant block of buildings.
But if it were dreary without, the sight of a cheerful blazing fire, which was disclosed to view as Ben opened a narrow door, raised her spirits at once, and taking in at a glance the rag carpet, the stuffed rocking chairs, the chintz-covered lounge, the neat-looking supper table spread for two, and the neater looking woman who was making the toast, she felt the pain at her heart give way a little, just a little, and bounding toward the woman, she cried, “You don’t know me, I suppose. I am Marian Lindsey, Colonel Raymond’s ward.”
Mrs. Burt, for it was she, came near dropping her plate of buttered toast in her surprise, and setting it down upon the hearth, she exclaimed, “The last person upon earth I expected to see. Where did you come from, and how happened you to run afoul of Ben?”
“I ran afoul of her,” answered Ben. “I found her a cryin’ on the pavement in front of Old Trinity, with that rascal of a Joe Black, makin’ b’lieve he was well acquainted with you, and that you lived jest round the corner.”
“Mercy me,” ejaculated Mrs. Burt, “but do tell a body what you’re here for—not but I’m glad to see you, but it seems so queer. How is the old Colonel, and that son I never see—Ferdinand, ain’t it—no Frederic, that’s what they call him?”
At the mention of Frederic, Marian gave a choking sob and replied: “Colonel Raymond is dead, and Frederic—oh, Mrs. Burt, please don’t ask me about him now, or I shall surely die.”
“There’s some bedivilment of some kind, I’ll warrant,” muttered Ben, who was a champion of all woman kind. “There’s been the old Harry to pay, or she wouldn’t be runnin’ off here, the villain,” and in fancy he dealt the unknown Frederic a far heavier blow than he had given the scapegrace Joe.
“Well, never mind now,” said Mrs. Burt, soothingly. “Take off your things and have some supper; you must be hungry, I’m sure. How long is it since you ate?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Marian, a deathlike paleness overspreading her face; “not since yesterday, I reckon. Where am I? Everything is so confused!” and overcome with hunger, exhaustion and her late fright, Marian fainted in her chair.