“I think it might be as well,” Mr. Forest observed, after a very brief low consultation with Leo.
“Oh don’t;” Joan said, with imploring voice and eyes.
Her wish was not regarded. George Rutherford seemed roused and expectant, to a degree which no one would have thought possible ten minutes earlier.
“Bring Marian Brooke here!” he reiterated, and Leo went.
Dulcibel, with reddened eyes and sobbing breath, now came back into the room, taking up her station on the other side of her husband from that occupied by Joan. Dulcibel believed him to be dying, as did Leo. Then Marian entered slowly, and stood at the foot of the bed.
She looked very worn and haggard and sad, but the gray eyes were full of a nameless peace, something like that which rested upon the countenance of George Rutherford.
He had not seen her since her bright and pretty girlhood. It would not have been surprising if he had failed to detect any likeness. But unexpectedly he held out his hand, and said in his old kind manner—
“Why, Polly Cairns!”
Marian took the wasted hand, and burst into tears.
“No—I am forgetting. Not Polly Cairns now—but—” George hesitated.