She shuddered as he leaned toward her, and stepping back, she answered resolutely: 

“That threat will prove very effectual.  I will meet you here, bringing the little money I have, and will keep this awful day a secret from all but God, who never fails to protect the right.”

“You promise that?”

“What else is left me?  My guardian shall know nothing from me until I can hear from my mother, to whom I shall write this night.  Do not detain me.  My absence will excite suspicion.”

“Good-bye, my daughter.”

He held out his hand.

She looked at him, and her lips writhed as she tried to contemplate for an instant the bare possibility that after all he might be her parent.  She forced herself to hold out her left hand which was gloved, but he had scarcely grasped her fingers, when she snatched them back, turned and darted away, while he called after her: 

“This time to-morrow.  Don’t fail.”

The glory of the world, and the light of her young life had suddenly been extinguished, and fearful spectres vague and menacing thronged the future.  Death appeared a mere trifle in comparison with the lifelong humiliation, perhaps disgrace, that was in store for her; and bitterly she demanded of fate, why she had been reared so tenderly, so delicately, in an atmosphere of honour and refinement, if destined to fall at last into the hands of that coarse vicious man?  The audacity of his claim almost overwhelmed her faint hope that some infamous imposture was being practised at her expense; and the severity of the shock, the intensity of her mental suffering, rendered her utterly oblivious of everything else.

At another time she would doubtless have heard and recognized a familiar step that followed her from the moment she quitted the square; but to-day, almost stupefied, she hurried along the pavement, mechanically turning the corners, looking neither to right nor left.

Fifth Avenue was a long way off, and it was late in the afternoon when she reached home, and ran up to her own room, anxious to escape observation.

Hattie was arranging some towels on the washstand, and turning around, exclaimed: 

“Good gracious, miss!  You are as white as the coverlid on the bed!  I guess something has happened?”

“I am not well.  I am tired, so tired.  Have they all come home?”

“Yes, and there will be company to dinner.  Two gentlemen, Terry said.  Are you going to wear that dress?”

“I don’t want any dinner.  If they ask for me, tell Mrs. Palma I feel very badly, and that I beg she will excuse me.  Where is Olga?”

“Busy trimming her overskirt with flowers.  You know Mrs. Tarrant gives her ball to-night, and Miss Olga says she has saved herself, rested all day, to be fresh for it.  Lou-Lou has just come to dress her hair.  What a pity you can’t go too, you look quite old enough.  Miss Olga has such a gay, splendid time.”