He had barely reached it when, from behind a mass of shrubbery near-by, Nick Carter heard a mingled moan and sob that caused his heart to swell with sudden apprehension. He darted to the spot, and beheld a girl reeling, half fainting, with her face buried in her hands, and her pretty figure shaken through and through with welling sobs.
One glance told Nick it was the rector’s daughter.
With a bound he reached her side, taking her by the arm, while his own kindly face revealed a mingled solicitude and apprehension.
“Hush, hush, my dear girl!” he cried softly. “You, too, have overheard, and you have met with a grievous trouble. Turn to me in this hour, and—hush! don’t let your father hear you. There may be a silver lining to the blackest cloud, my child. Let me be your friend in this hour of your grief.”
The startled girl stared at him through her flooded eyes, and by the dropping of her hands revealed a face as sweet and innocent as that of an angel.
Meantime, Moses Flood was hastening to the city, where, later in the day, as he was approaching his famous gambling resort, he encountered on the street a woman who unceremoniously accosted him.
The woman was Belle Braddon, arrayed in elaborate street attire.
“Hello, Mose!” she exclaimed familiarly, with an arch glance and smile.
Flood was not in a mood to be pleased with her familiarity, nor even to resent it.
“Hello, Belle,” he replied, bowing gravely.