She would not take a cab, weak as she was, for she wanted to make it impossible for any one to trace her, so she walked wearily and slowly along over the full mile that intervened between The Acacias and the elegant mansion of the Truehearts.
For a wonder no rough or rowdy molested the small, veiled female figure as it plodded along. Perhaps it was because every one but Molly herself saw that she was guarded by another woman who kept just a little behind the other and always in the shadow.
It was Florine Dabol, bent on finding out all about the mysterious friends at whom Molly had vaguely hinted.
“It may be worth my while to know where she is all the time when they are hunting her high and low!” she cleverly thought.
She was amazed and confounded when she saw her mistress ascend the stone steps of a splendid mansion, more and more amazed when she saw her after ringing the bell and waiting but a few moments, disappear within the stately door.
“Well, she’s got fine friends anyhow,” said Florine. She ascended the steps and read the name upon the door-plate.
“Sir Edward Trueheart, upon my word,” she ejaculated.
She waited a while in the shadow of the steps to see if her mistress would come forth again, but seeing that she did not, took her way hastily back to The Acacias and went in by the servants’ entrance, the key of which she had carried when she went out. As she did so the clock in the hall chimed the midnight hour.
“I will run up to her room and see if she has left him a note,” she said.
To her amazement, as she entered the dimly lighted upper hall, she encountered Cecil Laurens, who had just let himself in with his latch-key. He looked haggard and wretched in the dim light.