All the next morning the house was thronged with callers. Mother was proud as a queen. Then I ran away and went over to the Gaynors', hoping they had not heard. I had my wish. There seemed no one at home. The doors stood hospitably open and I entered. Then I caught sight of the girl who had never been out of my mind all these years. I came upon her unaware, and we stood face to face reading the inmost secrets of each other's souls, knowing what might have been, what we had lost. She put out her hand a little blindly and then she fell into my arms. I caught her and saved her from dropping on the floor.
I carried her to the settle and laid her down. She was as beautiful as any statue I had ever seen. The straight Greek nose with its thin nostrils, the rounded chin with a faint dimple, the perfect brows, the tendrils of hair that were like cloud-like vapor, so light and showing the white skin through. I glanced a moment, then I kissed her with the pent-up love of years, brow and lids with their long brown lashes, mouth and chin, but she lay like a form in marble, as if the tenderest passion could not rouse her.
Then I called for help. A black woman came, and, frightened, she ran for a neighbor. I tried chafing the hands. I called her endearing names, and then I remembered she was my brother's wife, but she was my darling, nevertheless.
When Mrs. Miller came, Jolette, the black woman, skirmished up a bottle of liniment and one of camphor.
"Is there any brandy or whiskey?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," and she went for that. Just then John Gaynor came in, and it seemed as if he would faint as well. But between us all we presently had her restored.
"I took her too suddenly," I began in apology.
"What did she say?" He eyed me sharply.
"She had not time for even a word of welcome," I answered. "Is she well?"
He shook his head with a reluctant dubiousness. "I'm afraid she isn't quite," was the slow reply.