“So there is my story as brief as I could make it. Can you make anything out of it, my dear?”
She was pale as death, her great eyes black with emotion, her hand pressed convulsively upon her heart as she faltered, through trembling lips:
“I cannot.”
“You have no suspicion as to the identity of the veiled woman?”
“No. I know nothing of his past. She may have been his mother, his sister,” she breathed hopefully.
“Perhaps so,” he replied; then paused and regarded her with tender, pitying eyes.
“Why do you look at me so strangely? I will not be pitied!” the girl cried, with sudden anger. “You have something more to tell me. Go on, then. Say your worst. I don’t think it will kill me,” proudly.
“That’s right, my brave girl! No man is worth dying for, and there’s as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,” cried the old doctor jovially, glad of her pride.
But in a minute he looked away from her to the window, and asked, in a lowered voice:
“Have you happened to hear that—Mrs. Fleming’s maid, pretty little Letty Green, eloped last night?”