Salome fell back breathless behind her brother, and turned up the road to the post-office. She dropped the precious manuscript into the box and the letter addressed to Messrs. Bardsley and Carrow, and then ran home.
"Good morning, miss," said Ruth, who was washing the step of the shop, while Puck sat by watching the operation. "It is a fine winter's morning, isn't it? just enough frost to make it pleasant. Puck is looking his best, isn't he? the beauty! I washed him last evening."
"It is very kind of you," said Salome; "he is beginning to like you, Ruth, as well as he does us."
"Oh no; he isn't one to forsake old friends," said Ruth. "See now—" for Puck had darted towards Reginald with delight expressed in a series of twists and twirls and low sounds of affection, as he ran hither and thither round Reginald.
Salome ran to her brother. "I have posted my story, Reg." How she longed to say more; how perplexed was her loyal heart as to what was right and best to do.
She seemed suddenly drawn into a secret meeting with a stranger, and with what shame she would have to beg him to wait for the debt her brother had so dishonestly contracted. Salome watched Reginald's figure as he ran with amazing speed down the road, and then turned slowly and sadly into the house.
Mrs. Wilton came down about eleven o'clock looking much brighter and better. When the little boys had put away their books and slates, and had gone out with their hoops, she said: "I feel so much happier about dear Raymond, Salome. He was so affectionate to me last evening, and has promised to do better. I have written a line to your Uncle Loftus, to ask him to deal gently with him, and to remember how greatly indulged he was in your dear father's lifetime. He has been little prepared for such a life as the one he is now leading. But we must be patient with him, poor dear fellow. I always think I am not half patient enough."
"O mother, you are only too kind to Raymond, and, indeed, to us all. You spoil us all."
"Not you, Salome," her mother said tenderly; "I fear you have too much on your young shoulders. If I were a strong woman, like your Aunt Anna for instance, I could do more to help you; but I am so useless. No one can feel that more than I do."
"You are of great use, mother dear," Salome said, "and ornamental too. You always remind me of somebody in a story as you sit by your work-table. Quite as pretty a picture as that one of you when you were a girl, whatever Mrs. Pryor may say. When shall we know about our affairs, mother?" Salome asked after a pause.