The
children were playing on the carpet--two pretty little things; the girl
eighteen months old.
"Take care!" suddenly called out Lady Hartledon.
Some one was opening the door, and the little Maude was too near to it.
She ran and picked up the child, and Hedges came in with a card for his
master, saying at the same time that the gentleman was waiting. Lord
Hartledon held it to the fire to read the name.
"Who is it?" asked Lady Hartledon, putting the little girl down by the
window, and approaching her husband. But there came no answer.
Whether the silence aroused her suspicions--whether any look in her
husband's face recalled that evening of terror long ago--or whether
some malicious instinct whispered the truth, can never be known. Certain
it was that the past rose up as in a mirror before Lady Hartledon's
imagination, and she connected this visitor with the former. She bent
over his shoulder to peep at the card; and her husband, startled out
of his presence of mind, tore it in two and threw the pieces into the
fire.
"Oh, very well!" she exclaimed, mortally offended. "But you cannot blind
me: it is your mysterious visitor again."
"I don't know what you mean, Maude. It is only someone on business."
"Then I will go and ask him his business," she said, moving to the door
with angry resolve.
Val was too quick for her. He placed his back against the door, and
lifted his hands in agitation.
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