But wherever he had gone, it was just as in
the former case: from the time the hotel door had closed on his cloaked
figure, all trace of him was lost.
Nor could Lady Mary Fane add anything of moment to what Lefevre already
knew or guessed. Her account of her adventure (which she gave him in her
father's house, whither she had been removed on the third day) was as
follows: She was returning home from St Thomas's Hospital, dressed
according to her habit when she went there; she had crossed Westminster
Bridge, and was proceeding straight into St James's Park, when she
became aware of a man walking in the same direction as herself, and at
the same pace. She casually noted that he looked like a distinguished
foreigner, and that he had about him an indefinable suggestion of death
clinging with an eager, haggard hope to life,--a suggestion which melted
the heart of the beholder, as if it were the mute appeal of a drowning
sailor. She was stirred to pity; and when he suddenly appeared to reel
from weakness, she stepped out to him on an overwhelming impulse, laid a
steadying hand on his arm, and asked what ailed him.
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