Little Novels | Page 6

and then I saw you with your father," she went on.
"When I came nearer to you, did I look very oddly--as if I didn't see

you at all?"
Lucy hesitated again; and Mr. Rayburn interfered.
"You are confusing my little girl," he said. "Allow me to answer your
questions--or excuse me if I leave you."
There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She
put her hand to her head.
"I don't think I'm fit for it," she answered vacantly. "My courage has
been sorely tried already. If I can get a little rest and sleep, you may
find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have
reasons for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you tomorrow? Or
write to you? Where do you live?"
Mr. Rayburn laid his card on the table in silence. She had strongly
excited his interest. He honestly desired to be of some service to this
forlorn creature--abandoned so cruelly, as it seemed, to her own
guidance. But he had no authority to exercise, no sort of claim to direct
her actions, even if she consented to accept his advice. As a last
resource he ventured on an allusion to the relative of whom she had
spoken downstairs.
"When do you expect to see your brother-in-law again?" he said.
"I don't know," she answered. "I should like to see him--he is so kind to
me."
She turned aside to take leave of Lucy.
"Good-by, my little friend. If you live to grow up, I hope you will never
be such a miserable woman as I am." She suddenly looked round at Mr.
Rayburn. "Have you got a wife at home?" she asked.
"My wife is dead."
"And you have a child to comfort you! Please leave me; you harden my
heart. Oh, sir, don't you understand? You make me envy you!"

Mr. Rayburn was silent when he and his daughter were out in the street
again. Lucy, as became a dutiful child, was silent, too. But there are
limits to human endurance--and Lucy's capacity for self-control gave
way at last.
"Are you thinking of the lady, papa?" she said.
He only answered by nodding his head. His daughter had interrupted
him at that critical moment in a man's reflections, when he is on the
point of making up his mind. Before they were at home again Mr.
Rayburn had arrived at a decision. Mrs. Zant's brother-in-law was
evidently ignorant of any serious necessity for his interference--or he
would have made arrangements for immediately repeating his visit. In
this state of things, if any evil happened to Mrs. Zant, silence on Mr.
Rayburn's part might be indirectly to blame for a serious misfortune.
Arriving at that conclusion, he decided upon running the risk of being
rudely received, for the second time, by another stranger.
Leaving Lucy under the care of her governess, he went at once to the
address that had been written on the visiting-card left at the
lodging-house, and sent in his name. A courteous message was returned.
Mr. John Zant was at home, and would be happy to see him.
IV.
MR. RAYBURN was shown into one of the private sitting-rooms of
the hotel.
He observed that the customary position of the furniture in a room had
been, in some respects, altered. An armchair, a side-table, and a
footstool had all been removed to one of the windows, and had been
placed as close as possible to the light. On the table lay a large open
roll of morocco leather, containing rows of elegant little instruments in
steel and ivory. Waiting by the table, stood Mr. John Zant. He said
"Good-morning" in a bass voice, so profound and so melodious that
those two commonplace words assumed a new importance, coming
from his lips. His personal appearance was in harmony with his
magnificent voice-- he was a tall, finely-made man of dark complexion;

with big brilliant black eyes, and a noble curling beard, which hid the
whole lower part of his face. Having bowed with a happy mingling of
dignity and politeness, the conventional side of this gentleman's
character suddenly vanished; and a crazy side, to all appearance, took
its place. He dropped on his knees in front of the footstool. Had he
forgotten to say his prayers that morning, and was he in such a hurry to
remedy the fault that he had no time to spare for consulting
appearances? The doubt had hardly suggested itself, before it was set at
rest in a most unexpected manner. Mr. Zant looked at his visitor with a
bland smile, and said:
"Please let me see your feet."
For the moment, Mr. Rayburn lost his presence of mind. He looked at
the instruments on