“I will not fail you, Mr. Darrell. You go about your work with the prayers of a faithful wife following you.”
He believed it then—he would have staked his life on her truth—and yet in the near future such terrible doubts were to arise.
“Surely that talisman ought to keep any man who is half a man, from evil—a loving mother and a faithful wife are the lodestones that have saved many a weak man from the pit of destruction. Good-night, Mrs. Leslie. Remember, should the worst come, you can depend upon Eric Darrell as your brother.”
He had said more than he intended to, but he was not cold-blooded like a fish, and the evident distress of this angel on earth had wrought up all his feelings.
Just then he felt as though he could have pommeled Joe Leslie with the greatest of pleasure.
Any man was a brute who would give a woman like this sweet creature, pain.
So Eric strode away angry with the wickedness of the world in general, and this friend of his in particular.
If Joe Leslie turned out a rascal he could see no palliating circumstance connected with the case, and according to his ideas the man ought to be drawn and quartered.
Hardly knowing where he was going, Darrell brought up at the hall where the bal masque was in progress.
It was still early—not later than half past ten, and the affair had only started.