“I am Flora Hatherton,” she interrupted; and as she spoke she made a sudden and strange sign that puzzled me. “Who sent you to meet me, sir?” she added impatiently.
Again I was at a loss for words. A great pity and resentment swelled up in my heart. I still hoped that there might be a mistake somewhere. I shrank from picturing this young and beautiful girl as the wife of old Griffith Hawke, sharing with him the uncouth and half-barbarous life of a wilderness trading post. It was too cruel for belief!
“Who sent you, stupid?” she repeated.
“Are you truly Miss Hatherton?” I asked.
“Of course I am!”
“Then I am at your service,” said I, “and I am here to meet you in behalf of the factor of Fort Royal.”
Her eyes dropped and her face saddened.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I thought you might be—”
But before she could finish the sentence a tall figure was thrust impetuously between us, and I looked up to recognize Captain Rudstone. He paid no heed to my presence, but made a swift sign to the girl. She answered it as quickly, and then said, with a smile:
“You are Captain Rudstone?”