He smiled, and Fair, so pale a moment before, blushed crimson, and hastily dropped her long-fringed lashes.
“Are you sure you are not much hurt?” he asked gently, and she answered eagerly:
“It is not very bad, thanks; but you—you are suffering; I see it in your face. Oh, I am so sorry, and I thank you so much for saving my life. I—I——”
The chauffeur opened the door, and stood impatiently waiting, having said “Home, miss!” twice while she was making her impulsive little speech.
Again she saw her rescuer’s handsome face pale, contract with pain, and he held out his hand and touched hers gently, saying kindly:
“I am glad I had the pleasure of saving your life, little one. Good-by.”
CHAPTER IV.
A THROBBING HEART.
Was it all a dream? Fair stood like one dazed on the pavement, watching the car roll around the corner out of sight, and, but for the throbbing wound on her temple, she would have thought it but a dream, so swiftly had everything passed.
But as the vehicle disappeared, a strange aching sense of loss and loneliness filled her heart, and, with a half sob, she turned and entered the dreary, shabby lodging house, where, away up in the fourth story, was a little back room that she called home.
It was a poorly furnished, shabby little room, yet with traces of refinement in its perfect cleanliness, its small stand of books, and the neat white cloth spread upon a small table, which held the evening meal, several slices of brown toast and a tiny pat of butter.