She had asked him for help, and he would help her.
"Let me have your sister's address," he said; "there is only one thing I want now to understand, why did Mrs. Dorriman never tell you of my visit?"
"Mrs. Dorriman?"
"Yes! Finding I could get no news of you I went there and saw her. She did not know where you were, but I let her see how anxious I was to find you. I let her know I loved you, Margaret; did she never speak of me to you?"
"Never," said poor Margaret, falteringly. "Ah!" she said, as a sudden gleam came to her memory, "I remember now she tried to tell me something, and I would not listen. I did not know—how could I know—it referred to you?"
"Would it have been too late?" he asked, in a low voice.
"I do not know," she said, passing her hand across her tearless eyes. "I cannot say what I might have done; but then I had promised——Is it not hard?" she exclaimed. "Oh! it does seem hard, to have had happiness within my grasp and to have lost it!"
He was inexpressibly affected, afraid of making things harder for her; he moved to go.
"You will always be to me my highest type of womanhood," he said. "Will you trust me about your sister? I will go to England to-night."
"Let us say farewell now and for ever," she said, stretching out her hands, and then as he wrung them in his she breathed "God bless you," and so passed out of his sight.