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A few steps nearer, and she displayed a set of sad but refined features, marred only by an irresolute, purposeless mouth. Then an ex-reporter from New York turned suddenly to a graceless young scamp who had once been a regular ornament to Broadway, and exclaimed: "Louise Mattray, isn't it?" "'Tis, by thunder!" replied the young man. "I knew I'd seen her somewhere. Wonder what she's doing here?"
Natural enough in New York. But where did she come from? Who told her? Cross, beads, and all. Hello! Oh, Louise Mattray, you're a deep one; but it's a pity your black robe isn't quite long enough to hide the very tasty dress you wore this morning? Queer dodge, too wonder what it means? Wonder if she's caught sight of the major, and don't want to be recognized?" The figure approached.
I've only just reached here; I don't yet know who's here, but I imagine there's public spirit enough to discourage treachery. Will some one see to him while I take something?" Spidertracks drew his revolver, mildly touched the young man on the shoulder, and remarked: "Come on." To a student of human nature Ernest Mattray was curious, fascinating, and repulsive.
"May I see the prisoner?" she asked. "No one has a better right, Mrs. Mattray," said the guardian of the cave, with a triumphant smile, while the poor woman started and trembled. "Don't be frightened no one is going to hurt you. Heard all about it, I suppose? know who just missed being the victim?" "Yes," said the unhappy woman, entering the cave. When she emerged it was growing quite dark.
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