Sir Francis Forcus, solemn and serene of face, riding homeward, had his
attention drawn to a little figure which flew ahead of him. Riding up to
her, he found that she who thus fled lonely as the shades of evening fell
along the deserted road, was that little girl, his sister's protegee, who
should have been safe under the shelter of his own roof.
She stood still, breathless and disordered, as he drew up alongside of
her. "What has happened? Where is my sister? Why are you alone?" he asked,
and looked with astonished disapproval at her scared little white face.
"I was late, and missed the--carriage. I am--running--home," she panted.
He saw that there was more behind, and dismounted. Girls were not trained
for physical exertion in those days, they were not nurtured in the belief
that they must not be cowards. Deleah was trembling with terror and
exhaustion.
"Sit down," he said, and she subsided on the bank. He stood silently by
her for a minute, drawing his conclusions. "You have been frightened," he
said. "Who frightened you?"
"N-no one," gasped Deleah. "I--ran."
"From what? From whom?" And Deleah could not reply, could only feel the
blessed security of his protecting presence, could only look up at him
with the trusting, adoring eyes of a child.
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