I turned to Robbins, who, feeling that after all he was to be recognized in the adventure, assumed an air of importance, though he could hardly keep his eyes from Hildegarde’s face until she drew the hood of her cloak so as to almost conceal its rounded contour.
“After you, old friend. I think you’re in a clearer state of mind than myself, and better able to lead. We must trust to the child.”
“You can trust our lives with her,” came from under the hood.
I nerved myself for the ordeal.
“Will you let me assist you?” I said to Hildegarde.
“Thank you, I do not need any help,” she replied.
Well, I had done my duty as a gentleman, and she could not complain that I was a boor.
“At least allow me to carry the bag.”
She hesitated, I know not why, and then gave it over.
I recognized it as one I had picked up in London when we were doing the sights of Europe; it had had my name on a silver plate. Almost unconsciously I raised it to see if that tag remained intact—yes, there were the distinct letters, “Morgan Kenneth, Esq.”