"Are you a relative of this person," he asked, in a clear sharp voice,
whilst his keen eyes seemed to be piercing her through in search of the
truth.
"No, sir," she answered, faintly.
"A friend then, I presume," continued he, respectfully.
"An acquaintance," returned she. The man paused for a few moments, then
taking out his watch, looked at the time, and hastened from the office.
This man possessed Lizzie with a singular feeling of dread--why she could
not determine; yet, after he was gone, she imagined those cold grey eyes
were resting on her, and bidding the old janitor, who had grown reserved so
suddenly, good morning, she sprang into her carriage as fast as her
trembling limbs could carry her, and ordered the coachman to drive back to
the hotel.
"Father must fly!" soliloquized she; "the alarm will, no doubt, lend him
energy. I've heard of people who have not been able to leave their rooms
for months becoming suddenly strong under the influence of terror. We must
be off to some place of concealment until we can learn whether he is
compromised by that wretched man's confession."
Lizzie quickly paid her bill, packed her trunk, and started for the station
in hopes of catching the mid-day train for New York.
The driver did not spare his horses, but at her request drove them at their
utmost speed--but in vain.
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