Neither Helen nor her husband knew him; the former gazed on him with terror, the latter with haughty indignation at what he considered rude audacity.
Lotte knew him in an instant, though she had seen him but once, when he suddenly appeared as the friend of Flora Wilton, in the old abode at Clerkenwell.
In an instant she felt sure that his visit was to her; and she had a strange presentiment that whatever he directed her to do she must perform.
All remained silent for a minute—then Nathan smiled.
“You seem slightly astonished,” he said; “didn’t expect to see me. Ha! ha! I’m fond of creating a sensation. You don’t know me,” he said, nodding to Helen. “You do,” he exclaimed to Lotte, “and I have business with you both. Firstly, Miss Clinton, understand that I have had your character painted to me in most glowing language by a young man—nay, never turn so crimson, for the young lady by your side has just described you in highly favourable terms, and it is not the custom for young ladies to fall into extravagancies of encomium upon individuals of their own sex; so you ought not to look so very rosy when you hear that a young man extolled your virtues, even more highly than he did your pretty face and form. I don’t expect you, however, to continue the colour on your brow when I say, that having investigated the truth of his allegations, I have found not one over estimated—that you are truly worthy of and deserving the reward which your friend at your side has offered to your superior merits——”
“If you knew how distasteful to my ears are these praises,” interrupted Lotte, gravely, “indeed, sir, you would not follow the example of generous people, whose extreme kindness of heart leads them to speak and to think far too highly of me. It is as if truthfulness, faithfulness and singleness of purpose were not common to us all.”
“Ah, yes, very good,” returned Nathan, “the only thing is, that the possession of all those qualities by one individual is uncommon—a leetle—-I say, rather uncommon. But I won’t, if you wish it, tell you what I think, but I will ask you if you will be guilty of one more act of unselfish service. You have just entered into an arrangement fraught with every possible comfort and happiness: I have come to place myself between you and the realization of immunity from care, privation, and unwearying toil. To be brief, Mr. Wilton, senior, has been wounded by an assassin, and lies helpless and delirious upon his bed at Harleydale. His daughter Flora—you know her well, of course—also has been placed in a position of danger, which, together with the shock occasioned by the attack on her father, has placed her on a bed of sickness. Mr. Wilton has none but hired nurses therefore. Now, Mr. Mark Wilton——”
Lotte turned pale at the name; Nathan saw it. He cleared his throat.
“I say that Mr. Mark Wilton bethought himself of you. I will not pretend to enter on all the incentives which induced him to request you to take the unthankful and trying office of nurse to his father—at least, in tending him more as a daughter”—he laid a strong emphasis on that word—“than as a nurse. No doubt he will satisfactorily explain himself to you; but I may say that, knowing all the circumstances, I feel that the request is a strong one, its compliance hardly to be expected, and that some more than common motive has led to the suggestion. However, as requested, I put the proposition to you; it is for you to accept or decline it.”
Before he had finished, ten thousand reasons why she should not go had flashed through her brain, yet the one soul-possessing idea—her love for Mark—determined her to comply with Mark’s wish.