“I trust that nothing would make me unmindful of the duties of hospitality, especially toward one who is ill and suffering as you appear to be,” Virgie answered, as she arose and went out to confer a moment with Mina regarding the comfort of her unbidden guest.
“Where is Aunt Margaret?” she inquired, when she returned, a few moments later.
“Dead.”
“Ah! and Philip?”
“Dead—and little Bertha, too. All are gone—victims of cholera, while I have not known a well day since I had it,” the man answered, in a harsh, unnatural voice.
Virgie felt the tears rise to her eyes, and her heart softened still more. Surely his punishment had begun, and in no light manner, if death had so quickly robbed him of all his family, ruining his own health also.
“How did you know that I was here in San Francisco?” she asked, after another painful pause.
He started at her question.
“I saw you here more than three years ago. I was not quite sure it was you the first time I met you, and I followed you, hoping to learn where you lived; but you evaded me without knowing it, that time. The next day I haunted the place where I lost sight of you, and came upon you just as you turned the corner, you remember. You knew me, I was very sure, by the look of dismay that sprang to your eyes. I was more sure after your little strategy in that store. But I wanted to see you desperately, Virgie. Didn’t you see my advertisement among the personals?”
“Yes; but I—could not meet you. I—could not forget,” faltered Virgie.