At this moment, a blue-coated officer crossed the line of her uncertain vision. Olive ran forward, laying her hand upon his arm, and besought him to get a carriage for her. The man, scrutinizing her closely, ended—to his eternal credit, be it said—by speaking civilly.
“There’s one coming now, Miss, if you think you’d be fit to drive alone. Perhaps you’d better step into a drug store till your head cools down a bit.”
“Oh! no, no. I am all right, officer; I only want to get to my father’s office, No. — Wall Street, please. Tell the driver to take me quickly, and I’ll thank you very, very much.”
Once inside the friendly hansom, Olive’s courage flowed back in a full stream. For half a mile or more she lay at ease upon the cushions, fanned herself, arranged her hat and veil anew, thought of her father’s kind pity for her mischances, and rejoiced in finding him—when, presto! the horse was down upon his knees and badly damaged, the passenger shooting forward, her wrist twisted in the attempt to prevent herself from falling further.
A crowd gathered about them. Olive, assisted to alight, protested that she was not hurt; and a good Samaritan, who saw the girl’s pallid cheeks, led her into a neighboring doorway, summoning another cab.
“You must let me take you to your destination, though,” said the gentleman who had aided her. “I happen to have daughters of my own about your age, and should be very sorry to have one of them left to shift for herself under these circumstances.”
“It can’t be so very far now to my father’s office in Wall Street,” replied Olive, suppressing the pain of her injured wrist. “I am dreadfully anxious to get to my father’s place of business.”
She mentioned his name, and the gentleman took off his hat—but was evidently puzzled by her forlorn appearance.
“I have good reason to know Martin Foljambe,” he said, courteously. “But for his generous action a few months ago—something he need not have done, but chose to do—I should have been hard hit. My name is Whitwell, and I beg you to give yourself no further concern, Miss Foljambe. I shall surrender you safely to your father’s keeping in a very little while.”
“Oh, if it is not too late!” exclaimed she, for the first time losing her self-control.