Between the two there was a touching greeting—a strange one for two men who could only be supposed to harbor resentment against each other.
Arthur was not ashamed to shed tears when he saw that helpless form and pallid face with the bandaged head. His voice trembled while he talked, and Mr. Dawn’s replies were low and gentle.
“I have kept very quiet. I have saved my strength till you and Cinthia came. I felt I would have much to bear then,” he said feebly.
Arthur answered, hopefully:
“I have good news for you. Cinthia has promised to marry my cousin Frederick Foster. Perhaps she might bear to know our secret now.”
“Perhaps so,” he replied, with a heavy sigh; and just then the door opened softly again, admitting Mrs. Flint with his daughter and Madame Ray.
Arthur drew aside and returned to his mother, who was still alone, having sent Janetta to help with the wounded woman just across the hall—Rachel Dane.
Mrs. Varian clung to her son, whispering wildly:
“Tell me what brought her here, that beautiful Madame Ray? Is she aught to him?”
“His daughter’s friend—nothing more, dear mother.”