On Saturday morning the post brought him a
letter which he saw to be from Mrs. Hannaford, and he opened it with
pleasant anticipation; but instead of the friendly lines he expected
he found a note of agitated appeal. The writer entreated him to come
and see her exactly at three o'clock; she was in very grave trouble,
had the most urgent need of him. Three o'clock; neither sooner or
later; if he could possibly find time. If he could not come, would
he telegraph an appointment for her at his office?
With perfect punctuality, he arrived at the house, and in the
drawing-room found Mrs. Hannaford awaiting him. She came forward
with both her hands held out; in her eyes a look almost of terror.
Her voice, at first, was in choking whispers, and the words so
confusedly hurried as to be barely intelligible.
"I have sent Olga away--I daren't let her know--she will be away
for several hours, so we can talk--oh, you will help me--you
will do your best----"
Perplexed and alarmed, Piers held her hand as he tried to calm her.
She seemed incapable of telling him what had happened, but kept her
eyes fixed upon him in a wild entreaty, and uttered broken phrases
which conveyed nothing to him; he gathered at length that she was in
fear of some person.
"Sit down and let me hear all about it," he urged.
"Yes, yes--but I'm so ashamed to speak to you about such things. I
don't know whether you'll believe me.
Pages:
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291