It seemed to Molly as if she should never see Cecil again, as if in
spite of all Doctor Charley’s hopes he would never return to her who
had deceived him. A bitter pride began to stir in her heart.
“I have no right here. I ought to have gone with Louise when she told
me,” she said to herself, sadly, for her sensitive pride would not
permit her to discuss her situation with Phebe, although she felt
certain that the maid knew all.
But one day she became aware that there was a sudden stir and confusion
in the house as of a sudden arrival. Her heart leaped wildly.
“It is Cecil!” she exclaimed, gladly, and her first impulse was to
leave the room in search of him; but the thought of Mrs. Laurens’ cold
eyes and scornful lips drove her back with her feet upon the threshold.
“I must wait. He will come to me here,” she murmured, sinking back into
her chair and trembling with joyful agitation.
Phebe hurried in presently with a beaming face.
“Oh, my dear, your husband is come!” she exclaimed, joyfully.
“Yes, I know--my heart told me,” said the eager girl. “Oh, Phebe, how
soon shall I see him? Will he come to me here?”
“Of course, my pet. But try to be patient, Mrs. Laurens. He is with his
father and mother now.”
“I ought to be first!” Molly cried, with kindling cheeks, then the
flush faded quickly as it had come, and she murmured, plaintively:
“but I can not expect that now. I must be content with the slightest
favors. I shall be thankful only to see him once again.”
She looked wistfully at Phebe.
“Am I very thin? Do I look very ill?” she asked, anxiously.
“Do not bother about your looks, my dear. No one could expect you to
look well in your condition and after such an illness,” the maid cried,
soothingly.
“But I must not look ugly in Cecil’s eyes. He used to think me so
pretty. Oh, Phebe, can’t you fix me a little so that I shall not look
so ill? And draw the curtains, and soften the light. It shines too
brightly on my faded face.”
Phebe humored her as if she had been a sick child. She dropped the
heavy curtains of silk and lace between the girl’s face and the
too garish light of day. Then she brought from the dressing-room a
rose-pink wrapper trimmed with soft swan’s-down and pink satin ribbons.
When Molly was dressed in this, and her curly hair arranged in a
pretty, careless, fluffy fashion, she looked lovely in spite of her
illness and delicate pallor.
“You are pretty enough now to win his love over again,” declared Phebe,
fondly. “Now sit here quietly in this chair, and wait for him patiently
until he comes.”
“Did he say he would come soon, Phebe?”
“He did not speak to me, my dear. I only saw him come in at the door
with his brother, and they went into the parlor with their parents. But
of course, when they tell him how sick you have been, he will hasten to
you.”
Molly did not answer, only sat with wide-open dark eyes fixed on the
closed door. An excited color glowed on her cheeks, and her parted lips
emitted quick, almost sobbing, breaths. To herself she was saying,
feverishly:
“I will throw myself at his feet and tell him everything. He will see
that Louise was as much to blame as I was, and he can not refuse to
forgive me. If he does, I shall die!”
She looked around with her wistful, fever-bright eyes at Phebe.
“I’m not impatient,” she said, plaintively; “but he is so long in
coming! It is more than an hour.”
“Only fifteen minutes by the clock since he entered the house, dear
Mrs. Laurens,” answered Phebe, glancing at the pretty little Swiss
affair on the mantel that told off the fleeting hours.
A muffled step sounded on the thick hall carpet outside. It paused, and
a gentle hand rapped on the door. Molly’s mobile face grew radiant with
love, hope, and joy.
“Cecil!” she murmured, in a thrilling voice, and Phebe moved to the
door and threw it wide open.
“Come in,” she said, and there entered Doctor Laurens!
There was no one behind him, for he closed the door and crossed over to
the side of the waiting girl.