She expected every moment to hear the city clocks chime ten, but she
reached Broadway without hearing them. Little wonder, when it was but
half past nine.
Drenched through, blown about, breathless, panting, almost scared at
the dreary forlornness of the deserted streets, the adventurous little
damsel reached the place of tryst.
Was she too soon? Surely not. There stood a cab, drawn close to the
curbstone, and there, in the shadow of the cab, stood a tall man in a
cloak, evidently waiting.
The lamps of the carriage shone upon him, but the cloak collar was so
turned up, the slouched hat so pulled down, such a quantity of dark
beard between, that nothing was visible of the face whatever.
Mollie paused, altogether exhausted; the man advanced a step out of the
shadow.
"White Mask?" he asked, in a cautious whisper.
"Black Mask!" responded Mollie, promptly.
"All right, then!" replied the man, speaking in French, and speaking
rapidly. "It's impossible to stand here in the rain and talk. I have
brought a carriage--let me assist you in."
But Mollie shrunk back.
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