“I would be so pleased. I will have much to tell you.” Alice, in her turn, hastened to express her pleasure, giving him her card, and while she clasped his hand in both of hers she gave him, as a parting salutation:
“Do not forget or hesitate to come. I, too, know both sweet ladies referred to. Let me assure you they are ladies, pure and good.” Then giving her driver orders to wait she again spoke to young Leland, telling him that they were anxious to ascertain the truth of what they had heard, that a young girl had been injured; whereupon he offered to accompany them. They retraced their steps the distance of a square, where they found quite a number of people gathered who were discussing the accident. Upon inquiring they found that the girl had been picked up bleeding and in an insensible condition, but that before she could be taken to a hospital a young lady, opposite whose home the accident had occurred and who had just returned from shopping, had opened her hospitable door and had cared for the wounded girl. Some bystanders remarked that in all probability her kind action would not meet the approval of her father, or that of her stepmother. But Miss Wallace, it was replied, had a mind of her own, and usually she followed its dictates. The house was pointed out to Alice and Imelda, and to judge from the outward appearance it was by no means the abode of poverty. Mounting the steps they rang the bell. Upon stating their errand, they were asked to enter.
Young Leland here bade them farewell for the present, promising them soon to call at the home of the Westcots. The anxious ladies were then shown into the parlor and left to themselves. They could hear that there was a commotion of some kind. There were hasty steps to and fro; voices in the distance; orders given, etc. After a while the door opened and a beautiful dark eyed young lady entered. In a voice full and rich she said:
“If I have been rightly informed, you ladies were in the carriage that dashed over the unfortunate girl who has been hurt?”
Both ladies had risen.
“Yes! to our great sorrow, such is the case,” said Alice. “Some boys were throwing stones and hitting one of our horses caused the sad accident.”
“And were none of you hurt?” looking from one to the other and from them to the little ones.
“No, thank you; not hurt at all. We escaped with only a terrible fright, but the unfortunate young girl,—who is she? Is she seriously injured?”
“Who she is we have as yet no means of ascertaining as she is still unconscious. From appearance she is a working girl; she is very plainly dressed, but there are evident marks of refinement, as though she might have seen better days. How seriously she is hurt we also do not know. As I have said before, she has not yet regained consciousness. We know, however, that she has been hurt about the head. An arm also is broken, but the doctor hopes she is not inwardly injured. She seems to be in a weak condition of body as from recent illness. I have left my sister in charge while I came to you, ladies, so as not to leave you too long in suspense.”
It was evident the fair speaker was desirous that her callers would take their leave, as her attention was doubtless required somewhere else. Imelda had not spoken. She experienced again the same sensations that she had when she first saw young Leland. Again the face before her seemed strangely familiar, but she was unable to place it. Was it to be a repetition of her former experience of an hour ago? But how? Alice was in the act of leave-taking, giving minute instructions as to her place of residence in case of an unlooked-for development of the case, for she said: