Molly had determined to go to the Truehearts, tell them her whole sad
history, and ask them to love her for her father’s sake.
“They can not turn me away, they are too fond of me already,” she said,
hopefully to herself. “If they will only hide me from my enemies I
shall love them and be grateful to them forever.”
She had begun to look on Cecil as her enemy now, as one who wished for
her death that he might marry his new love.
“But they shall not kill me. I shall die soon enough of my broken heart
anyhow,” she said sadly.
She would not take a cab, weak as she was, for she wanted to make it
impossible for any one to trace her, so she walked wearily and slowly
along over the full mile that intervened between The Acacias and the
elegant mansion of the Truehearts.
For a wonder no rough or rowdy molested the small, veiled female figure
as it plodded along. Perhaps it was because every one but Molly herself
saw that she was guarded by another woman who kept just a little behind
the other and always in the shadow.
It was Florine Dabol, bent on finding out all about the mysterious
friends at whom Molly had vaguely hinted.
“It may be worth my while to know where she is all the time when they
are hunting her high and low!” she cleverly thought.
She was amazed and confounded when she saw her mistress ascend the
stone steps of a splendid mansion, more and more amazed when she saw
her after ringing the bell and waiting but a few moments, disappear
within the stately door.
“Well, she’s got fine friends anyhow,” said Florine. She ascended the
steps and read the name upon the door-plate.
“Sir Edward Trueheart, upon my word,” she ejaculated.
She waited a while in the shadow of the steps to see if her mistress
would come forth again, but seeing that she did not, took her way
hastily back to The Acacias and went in by the servants’ entrance, the
key of which she had carried when she went out. As she did so the clock
in the hall chimed the midnight hour.
“I will run up to her room and see if she has left him a note,” she
said.
To her amazement, as she entered the dimly lighted upper hall, she
encountered Cecil Laurens, who had just let himself in with his
latch-key. He looked haggard and wretched in the dim light.
“Florine!” he exclaimed, in surprise, at sight of the cloaked and
bonneted figure.
“Yes, sir. I have been to the theater. My mistress gave me this evening
out,” answered the artful maid, thinking that she could turn this
seemingly awkward _contretemps_ to good account.
He hesitated a moment, then asked, eagerly:
“Do you think that Mrs. Laurens is awake yet, Florine?”
“I expect so, sir. She does not sleep well at night for fretting and
crying.”
The words struck his heart with pain and reproach.
“‘Fretting and crying,’ and no one to comfort her, poor child!” he
thought, and held up his hand. “Wait,” he said.
He drew pencil and paper from his pocket, and wrote rapidly some words
that had been burning his heart all day:
“My darling wife, forgive me for that cruel letter. My love has
conquered pride, anger and resentment. Let us throw the past behind
us, and begin life anew. May I come to you and hear the story I once
refused to listen to from you?
YOUR OWN CECIL.”
He folded the note hurriedly across and put it into Florine’s hand with
a gold piece.
“That’s for your kindness to my wife, my good girl,” he said. “Now, if
she is awake, give her the note at once. If she is asleep, let her have
it as soon as she awakens. I shall wait here a few minutes to hear from
you.”
Florine courtesied low, took the note and disappeared in a moment
inside that door on which Cecil’s wistful eyes were eagerly fastened.
Then she thrust the note into her pocket and looked eagerly around the
room.
“Ah!” she exclaimed.
There was a note, as she had expected--a note not even sealed.
It lay upon a little table at the head of the bed where Florine usually
placed the glass of water Molly drank at night.
Florine read the brief note hastily and without compunction.
Then she put it back upon the table and opened the door, beckoning
excitedly to Cecil, who was waiting at the stair-way.
He came hurriedly, believing that Molly had summoned him, eager, like
himself, for a reconciliation.
He stepped quickly across the threshold, and Florine panted, wildly:
“Ah, monsieur! what does it mean? She--my mistress--is not here!”
She ran into the dressing-room and bath-room and back again, followed
by Cecil, startled and anxious.
“_Ma foi_, I have feared this--that she would run away!” Florine
muttered, just loud enough for him to overhear.
He turned on her fiercely.
“Woman, you must be mad! She can not have left the house. Go and seek
her at once.”
But at that moment his eyes fell on the note.
He snatched it up hurriedly and read:
“MR. LAURENS,--You have said that you would read nothing from me, but
doubtless you will make an exception of this welcome note that tells
you that I have gone away out of your path forever.
“I have learned that I am to be sent to your home in America next
week, while you remain behind to enjoy the companionship of the wicked
woman you love. The ostensible reason is that my child may be born at
Maple Shade. I prefer to go to my own friends, where the blessing that
is coming into my blighted life may come into the world under the same
English skies where my forefathers first saw the light. If I stayed
with you, you would hate both me and the little one, so we will go
where we shall be sure of a little love and kindness.
“Farewell--a long farewell. MOLLY.”