He slid out of her. “Have you not heard?” she said. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. It was scarcely out of sight, when two persons, whom, he instantly recognised as Jonathan and Abraham Mendez, turned the corner of the street, and made it evident from their shouts, that they likewise perceived him. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. After five or six years it would not be difficult to hide in Italy or in France.
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