Poor Drusilla could only throw an appealing glance at the master, which seemed to pray forgiveness.
But Alexander laughed and pressed her hand, as he whispered:
“Never mind, my dear! Perhaps her imaginings are not all lunacy. They may be second-sight. Who knows?”
He spoke half in jest and half in earnest, and drew her to his bosom, and held her there for a moment. But when he felt the wild beating of her heart against his own, and when he saw the deadly paleness of her cheek as it rested against his breast, he suddenly released her, half repenting his act.
Mrs. Sterling seemed to think such billing and cooing very foolish, though quite natural, between bride and bridegroom, for as she looked at them she murmured:
“Ah, poor souls, they think it is always going to be just so. La! look at any middle-aged married couple you know, and see the difference.”
Meanwhile Mr. Lyon, holding his “child’s” hand, stooped and whispered to her.
“Drusilla, my little darling, I hope I have not hurt your feelings, have I?”
She shook her head and tried to speak, but only gasped instead, and hid her face in her hands.
“You are growing out of all this now, I know. Almost a young woman, you are, turned fourteen, but it is hard to think you so; you seem still to be my own precious child,” he whispered gently.