“Bravo, miss! that was a brave deed. He deserved death; but if you had waited a minute longer, I would have killed him for you myself.”
Floy shrunk against the window, with a low cry of alarm, as she beheld this new intruder.
“Oh, God, why am I so bitterly persecuted?”
“I beg you not to be afraid of me, Miss Fane. I am your friend,” exclaimed the detective, kindly.
His voice sounded so honest and kindly that Floy said, faintly:
“Who are you? How came you here, sir?”
“I am Floyd Landon, a detective, miss; and I came here to search for you, but not with any evil intent, be sure; for I was employed by a true friend of yours, who will be delighted when I take you to her house.”
Floy summoned courage to look at him, and saw that he was a good-looking, middle-aged person, with the frank, open face an honest countryman. No one would have suspected that he was one of the most successful detectives in the city of New York.
His heart was as kind as his face, too, and it was touched by the misery of the girl who was so remorseful over having destroyed a life.
Her beauty astonished him also, even though Mrs. Beresford’s flattering description had prepared him in some measure for Floy’s charms.