It was extraordinary to Lester that he could look on at this scene without conscious pain. It Was exactly as if he had watched them rehearsing a play in which emotions were simulated but not experienced. When the rehearsal was over they would become their actual selves again. Beyond hardness, and suffering, and misunderstanding he could see the end.
He could see the end as Molly cast an imploring look around her and prepared to depart. Ethelind, who was already in street clothes, gave all the signs of going with her. Over them both Lester threw the protection of his love, which apparently gave them nerve. Neither of them flinched; but it was in Molly that the real valor shone. She was both quiet and firm as she took her few steps toward the door, Ethelind clinging to her arm.
But at the door there was a ring, and on the porch outside there stood a boy with a telegram in his hand.
"Charles E. Lester live here?"
Ethelind seized the envelope, while with feverish fingers Cora signed for it. The father took it in his hands and held it helplessly.
The mother uttered one great cry.
"Open it!"
He opened it—read it—and let it flutter to the floor.
Cora snatched it up; but she, too, dropped it after a hurried glance. She stood as if turned to stone.
The mother took it—sat down deliberately—read it carefully—read it again—read it again—and folding it, slipped it into the bosom of her gown.