You look very cold, and I must hasten back, or my absence might cause questions and censure.  I shall find out everything from mother, for she will not deceive me; and if—­if what you say is true, then I shall know what is my duty, and you must believe that I shall perform it.  I pray to God that you may not be my father, and I cannot believe that you are; but if after all you prove your claim, I will do what is right.  I will take your hand then, and face the world’s contempt; and we will bear our disgrace together as best we may.  When I know you are my father, I will pay you all that a child owes a parent.  This I promise you.”

Her face was wellnigh as white as the snow that covered and fringed her hood; and out of its pallid beauty, the sad eyes looked steadfastly into the bloated visage before her.

“I believe you!  There spoke my girl!  You are true steel, and worth a hundred of Minnie.  Some day, my pretty child, you and I shall know one another, as father and daughter should.”

He once more attempted to touch her, but vigilant and agile she eluded his hand, and said decisively: 

“You have all that I can give you now—­the money.  Don’t put your hand on me, for as yet I deny your parental claim.  When I know I am your child, you shall find me obedient in all things.  Now, sir, good-bye.”

Turning, she ran swiftly away, and glanced over her shoulder, fearful of pursuit, but the figure stood where she had left him; was occupied in counting the money, and, breathing more freely, Regina shook the snow from her wrappings, from her umbrella, and walked homeward.

Had she purchased a sufficient reprieve to keep him quiet until she could hear from her mother, and receive the expected summons to join her?  Or was this but an illusive relief, a mere momentary lull in the tempest of humiliation that was muttering and darkening around her?

She had walked only a short distance from the square, and was turning a corner, when she ran against a gentleman hurrying from the opposite direction.

“Pray pardon me, miss.”

She could not suppress the cry that broke from her lips.

“Oh, Mr. Palma!”

He turned as though he had not until now recognized her, but there was no surprise in his stern fixed face.

“I thought Mrs. Brompton resided on West ——­ Street; had not heard of her change of residence.  From the length of your rehearsal you certainly should be perfect in your performance.  It is now half-past five, and I think you told me you commenced at one?  Rather disagreeable weather for you to be out.  Wait here, under this awning, till I come back.”

He was absent not more than five minutes, and returned with a close carriage; but a glance sufficed to show her it was not the one she had seen in the neighbourhood of the square.

As he opened the door and beckoned her forward, he took her umbrella, handed her in, and with one keen cold look into her face, said: