"More wonderful still, May; I can read the living." His mustached lip curled, as a scornful smile passed over his face.
"Read the living? Then you can understand and appreciate my pleasure at this good news. Doubly good, because it secures Pauline's return to-day. Dear child, I long to have her at home again." An expression of anxious maternal solicitude crossed her features. Her brother kept his hand on her shoulder, and as his eye fell on her glossy auburn curls, he said, half musingly:
"Time touches you daintily, May; there is not one silver footprint on your hair."
"He has dealt quite as leniently with you. But how could I feel the inroads of time, shielded as I have been by your kindness? Cares and sorrows bleach the locks oftener than accumulated years; and you, Guy, have most kindly guarded your poor widowed sister."
"Have I indeed, May?"
"Ah! what would become of my Pauline and me, but for your generosity, your—"
"Enough! Then, once for all, be kind to yonder sick child; if not for her sake, for your own. You and Pauline can aid me in making her happy, if you will. And if not, remember, May, you know my nature. Do not disturb Beulah now; come down and let her be quiet." He led her down the steps, and then, throwing open a glass door, stepped out upon a terrace covered with Bermuda grass and sparkling like a tiara in the early sunlight. Mrs. Chilton watched him descend the two white marble steps leading down to the flower beds, and, leaning against the wall, she muttered:
"It cannot be possible that that miserable beggar is to come between Pauline and his property! Is he mad, to dream of making that little outcast his heiress? Yet he meant it; I saw it in his eye; the lurking devil that has slumbered since that evening, and that I hoped would never gleam out at me again. Oh! we are a precious family. Set the will of one against another, and all Pandemonium can't crush either! Ten to one, Pauline will lose her wits too, and be as hard to manage as Guy." Moody and perplexed, she walked on to the dining room. Beulah had fallen into a heavy slumber of exhaustion, and it was late in the day when she again unclosed her eyes. Harriet sat sewing near her, but soon perceived that she was awake, and immediately put aside her work.
"Aha! so you have come to your senses again, have you? How are you, child?"
"I am weak."