Mr. Ingelow was very pale when he emerged into thronged Broadway, but there was no indecision in his movements.  He hailed a hack passing, sprung in, and was driven rapidly to the east side—­to the humble abode of Mrs. Slimmens.

Mollie came forth to meet him, worn and sad, and with traces of tears, but with a bright, glad light in her starry eyes at sight of him—­the light of sweet young love.

“I have seen him, Mollie,” he said.  “I gave him your letter.  You would hardly have known him, he looked so utterly aghast and confounded.  He will not try to see you, I am certain.  And now, my dear girl, for that other and better plan that I spoke of last evening.  But first you must take a drive with me—­a somewhat lengthy drive.”

She looked at him wonderingly, but in no fear.

“A drive,” she repeated.  “Where?”

“Only to Harlem—­not quite out of the world,” with a smile.  “The carriage is waiting.  Go put on your bonnet, and come.”

“It is very odd,” thought Mollie.

But she obeyed implicitly, and in five minutes they were rattling along over the stony streets.

“Won’t you tell me now?” the young lady asked.

“Not yet.  Let the mystery develop itself as it does in a novel.  Trust to me, and prepare for a great shock.”

She gazed at him, utterly unable to comprehend.  He was smiling, but he was strangely pale.

“It is no jest, surely,” Mollie said.  “It is something serious.  You look as though it were.”

“Heaven knows I never was more serious in my life.  Don’t ask any more questions now, Mollie; but if I have ever done you the slightest service, try to bear it in mind.  You will need to remember it shortly, and I will stand sorely in want of all your magnanimity.”

He said no more, and Mollie sat in a dazed state, but still happy, as she ever must be by his side.  And on, and on, and on they rattled, and the city was left behind, and they were driving through the quiet of Harlem, green and pretty in its summery freshness.

The driver, obeying some directions of Mr. Ingelow, turned up a shady green lane ending in a high gate-way.

They entered the gate-way and drove up through a long avenue of waving trees to a square, fair mansion of gleaming white—­a large wooden structure with intensely green blinds, all closely shut.

Mollie sat and looked in speechless expectation.  Mr. Ingelow, volunteering no explanation, assisted her out, desired cabby to wait, opened the door with a latch-key, and ushered Mollie in.

The entrance-hall was very much like any other entrance-hall; so, likewise, was the broad stair-way; so, also, the upper landing.

It was only when Mr. Ingelow, pausing before one of the doors in the second hall, spoke, that Mollie received her first shock.

“You will enter here, Mollie, and wait.  Prepare yourself for a great surprise—­a terrible surprise, perhaps.”