England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
She looked about for some one to appeal to, and with sudden thankfulness
heard steps hurrying behind. Next moment she saw her tormentor lying on
his back in the gutter with another man standing over him.
"I am glad to be of assistance to you," the stranger said. "If you will
allow me to walk with you as far as the corner of the street I will call
a cab. I suppose you got separated from your party and this fellow
followed you."
"That is so," May replied. "I cannot sufficiently thank you."
She paused in the midst of her speech, for her rescuer's face was
shining out clear and distinct in the lamplight. At the same instant the
stranger turned and their eyes met.
"Harry," the girl murmured, "Harry!"
"Well, yes," the stranger laughed awkwardly. "This is rather an
unexpected meeting, isn't it?"
May made no reply at the moment. She was studying her companion
intently. She noticed how white his handsome face was. There was the
suspicion of suffering in his eyes. His dress was neat, but worn and
shabby, and yet there was an unmistakable air about Harry Fielden which
proclaimed that he had been accustomed to better things. He stood
half-defiant, half-smiling, and yet he held up his head as if he had
nothing to be ashamed of.
"Where have you been for the last two years?" May asked.
Harry Fielden shrugged his shoulders.
"It would be difficult to tell," he said. "In the first place, I tried
Australia. But things were worse there than they are here. America I
could not stand at any price; then I went to South Africa, where I
managed to starve. I had one slice of fortune, but was cruelly used by a
man I trusted. And now, if it be possible, I am poorer than ever. I am
trying to get employment at a stud farm or racing stable. It is the only
thing I really know."
May Haredale listened with trembling lips. Raymond Copley would have
been surprised had he seen the expression on her face. He might have
been uneasy, too.
"I am very sorry," the girl remarked. "Oh, my dear boy, how foolish you
have been! To think what you wasted! To think of that beautiful old
house!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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