She had promised, and he knew that she would not fail him. His mind
was charged with the wildest speculations. What would be the nature of
the resurrection? What word would come from the present to greet the
past? From what mysterious hiding-place would come the call? Even now,
at this very instant, from some far-away spot in the great wide world
a voice might be winging its way to him. What tidings were in the air?
What word of the girl he loved?
And now, like an icy blast, came the appalling possibility that the
world knew more of Mrs. Braddock's whereabouts and actions than he,
who was so vitally interested. The word "actress" as supplied by the
contemptuous Baltimore girl conveyed to his soul a sharp, sickening
dread. Was Mary Braddock the one? Had she given way under the strain?
Had circumstance cowed her into submission? Was she the one who
occupied the little house in London-town?
If so, what of Christine?
He smoked as he paced the long veranda. In a dark corner at the lower
end, sheltered from the mist by trailing arbutus, a group of three
persons from the inexperienced, uncouth North, were drinking juleps
served by an impassive but secretly disdainful servant bent with age
and, you might say, habitual respect.
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