He saw her leaving a group in the parlor, of which Stanton was one,
and he hastened to intercept her in the hall-way. Just as he was
about to speak to her, Mr. Burleigh came bustling up and said:
"Miss Burton, a stranger--not to fame or fortune, nor to you
probably, but a stranger to me--is inquiring for you--a stranger
from the South. He would not give his name, and--good heaven, Miss
Burton! are you ill?"
Van Berg led her into a private parlor near. She certainly had
grown very white and faint. But after a moment there came a flash
of hope and eager expectation into her face that no words could
have expressed.
"His name--his name?" she gasped.
Mr. Burleigh looked at her a second, and then said: "Stay quietly
here, I'll bring him to you; and then, Mr. Van Berg, perhaps you
and I might form an enormous crowd."
"Had I not better leave you at once?" the artist asked when they
were alone.
"Wait a moment. I--I--am very weak. It cannot be--but hope dies
hard."
Trembling like a leaf, and with eyes aflame with intense, eager
hope, she watched the door.
A moment later Mr. Burleigh ushered in a middle-aged gentleman,
who commenced saying:
"Pardon me, Miss Burton, for not sending my name, but you would
not have known it"--then the young lady's appearance checked him.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368