But Hannah was wiser.
"There be a lot of 'em I 'ear," she said, "an' I don't know which is
the best of 'em. What do you say, ma'am? Who be you goin' to, by your
leave?"
"To Mr. Powers," answered Miss Trevor. "Powers, yes, Powers. A good
man and a kind--yes, man, indeed, man."
"Is he the kind of a one--a banker, I mean," said Hannah, "that would
give you a note for gold--golden guineas?"
Miss Trevor looked at her suspiciously for one moment. Was this a
trap? Was this friendly person, who was seemingly as much at sea as
she was herself in this wilderness of business streets and crowd of
business men, some swindler in petticoats, some decoy who would lead
her where she might be robbed of all she had about her that was
valuable, of the really precious contents of that shabby, worn
satchel? The bare idea of such a thing was enough to lend wings of
terror to Miss Trevor's feet; and she was about to dart away from
Hannah's side when the hand of the latter in its turn arrested her,
giving, if possible, new force to the fears of the old lady.
"What did I come for?" she ejaculated, "yes, come. I wish I was back
in Sylvandale--yes, Sylvandale, indeed, 'dale."
"Sylvandale!"
The name had a familiar--since the events of the last few days, an
unpleasantly familiar sound to Hannah, and she gave a little start.
"Sylvandale," she repeated; "do you know Sylvandale?"
But again her inquiry only provoked increased alarm in the breast of
Miss Trevor.
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