“Sister,” he said, gently, bending down and lifting her wasted little
hand to his lips.
She let him kiss it in dead silence. Her face had grown ashy white, the
light had faded from her eyes, the color from her lips.
“Sister,” he repeated again, holding her hand and looking anxiously
into her changed face; but Molly’s lips moved nervously without giving
forth a sound.
“Doctor Laurens, she’s disappointed. She thought you would bring her
husband,” Phebe said, bluntly.
“I did. I thought she _knew_,” he replied, in surprise; and he
continued, tenderly; “Yes, I have brought him back to you, little girl,
after a hard chase, and may the Lord deliver me from ever again having
to follow a man who has run away from his own misery. Jove! but he gave
me a run, although I captured him at last, on one of the coldest peaks
of Switzerland.”
Phebe rejoined, impatiently:
“I have told her he was in the house, Doctor Laurens, but she was
waiting for him to come to her here--in this room, you understand.”
He understood, for his face changed and clouded. He said, in an
embarrassed tone:
“Ah!”
Molly seemed to recover speech. She faltered, anxiously:
“I long to see him.”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Doctor Charley, with ready sympathy. He
hesitated a moment, then said, gently: “Try to be patient a little
longer, my dear. He is apt to be a little hard when he is vexed and
hurt; but--”
She interrupted him with a piercing cry.
“Do you mean that he will not forgive me--that he has no pity for me?”
“Gently, sister!” said Doctor Charley, full of sympathy for the forlorn
young creature. “Listen, now, and do not interrupt me. Cecil is
angry still, but he has come back to repair the wrong caused by your
ignorance in wedding him under a false name. He will make you his wife
again by a private ceremony here in this room tomorrow.”
“Oh, may Heaven bless him for that noble deed! I knew he could not
desert me like that, when he learned all. Oh, Doctor Charley, bring him
to me; I have so much to say to him!” Molly exclaimed, full of eager
joy and hope.
He shook his head, and said, sadly enough:
“It is quite useless, my dear little sister, to ask me to bring him,
for he has refused to come. He is angry still, as I told you, and he
will not see you until the hour of the ceremony that makes you again
his wife!”
She stared at him aghast, the momentary hopefulness fading from her
face.
“Do not look at me like that--I could not move him!” he said,
imploringly. “Come, be reasonable, my child. You did not expect him to
forgive you all at once, did you?”
“No,” she faltered.
“And you were right,” he answered, reluctant to pain her, but knowing
that her heart must be probed still further ere it might be healed.
“Cecil is very proud, you know, and he finds it hard to forgive your
deceit. He thinks he is only to marry you again for the sake of the
child that is coming to bear his name, but I am sure that underneath
the crust of his anger and resentment his love for you lives yet.”
Her head drooped sadly to her breast, and she sighed heavily while he
continued:
“It must be your task, my sister, to win this wounded heart back to
you. Cecil is hard and proud, but he is just. When he sees your remorse
and repentance he will be sorry for you, he will pity you, and with the
coming of your child the cloud will pass from your lives, and you will
be happy again.”
He spoke more sanguinely than he had cause to speak, but he believed
that unless he could whisper some hope and comfort to that crushed
heart, it must break beneath the weight of its shame and sorrow. And
he was right, for as he ceased speaking she lifted her bowed head, and
said, with a faint, wavering smile:
“God bless you for your prophecy, my noble brother! Ah, if the deepest
devotion woman ever felt can melt his proud heart, I will lay that
devotion at his feet and plead with him for pardon and love.”