“No, not much; but, oh, oh! he frightened me terribly,” she whispered, shaking as with the ague, and her teeth chattering audibly.
“Poor thing! poor thing! this is a bad place for such as you to be in,” he answered, pityingly. “I thought to watch for you,” he continued, “until you came out from John Loker’s house, and then take you safely through this dismal street; but there was a scrimmage down here apiece, and I had to go. But I was a sort ’o looking for you as I came along back, and I suspected at once that it was you when I heard you cry out. Did the wretch steal anything from you?”
“No; but he wanted something which he knew I had, and I wouldn’t give it to him.”
“Wouldn’t, eh?” repeated the policeman, with a little chuckle at her spirit and resolute tone. “Should you know him if you should ever meet him again?” he asked, presently.
“Oh, yes,” Editha answered, with a shudder, feeling that it would be impossible ever to forget that repulsive face that had so startled her at the window in John Loker’s miserable home.
She was now beginning to recover her strength, and signified her readiness to go on if her companion would accompany her. She longed to get away from the dismal place, and as if she would never dare enter a by-street again as long as she lived.
The man readily went with her to the next street, and waited to see her safely seated in a car, and in less than fifteen minutes she was once more in her own luxurious home, heartily thankful for her escape from a ruffian’s power.
Mr. Dalton expressed some surprise at her being out so late—remarked, with some indifference, that she looked pale, and asked if she was not well, and then added that dinner had been waiting for more than half an hour.
She simply replied that she was well, and regretted that he should have waited dinner for her, but she had been unavoidably detained.
Editha Dalton knew that she must keep her own counsel regarding that evening’s adventures.