"I will trust you," Miriam said, rising and walking to the door. "You will lose no time. The poor child is, no doubt, in utter misery."
"I will lose no time. You must give me a week. This day week come back, if Mollie is not home, and I will meet you here."
Miriam bowed her head and opened the door.
"Mollie will thank you—I can not. Farewell!"
"Until this day week," Hugh Ingelow said, with a courteous smile and bow.
And then Miriam Dane was gone, flitting through bustling Broadway like a tall, haggard ghost.
Hugh Ingelow turned back to the window, his brows knit, his lips compressed, his eyes glowing with a deep, intense fire—thinking. So he stood while the low, yellow gleams died out of the western sky, and the crystal stars swung in the azure arch—thinking, thinking!