"Yes. Doctor Travers came to see me."
"Ha! ha! He doesn't seem to have cheered you much. I wager he's told you what he thinks of you, tossing to the winds all the beautiful health and spirits of the summer! When are you to be married? I must tell him to bully you as—as my dear love is bullying me! Has Doctor Ledyard growled at you? I can twist him easily! He is a darling, and just wears that face and voice for fun in order to scare little redheaded nurses. Cilla, dear heart, I'm going to be married in June! Dear, old-fashioned June, with roses and good luck and—oh! the heaven seems opening and the glory is pouring down! There, girlie! cuddle here! I'm going to tell you everything; even to the mentioning of names! I've always hated to label my joy before. But, first, take some chocolate; it's hot and piping. Now! Who did you nurse in Bermuda? I'm going to tell him, or her, what I think of him!"
"I—nursed—Mr. Clyde Huntter. We were in New York all the time. That is why—I had to keep—still——"
"Mr. Clyde Huntter?" Margaret set the cup she held, down sharply. The quick brain was alert and in action.
"Mr. Clyde Huntter?" And then Margaret Moffatt came close to Priscilla, and looked down deep into the unfaltering eyes raised to hers.
"Mr. Clyde Huntter—is the man I am to marry!" she said in a voice from which the girlish banter had gone forever. It was the voice of a woman in arms to defend all she worshipped.
"Yes, I know. I was in his room the day you called. I thought I should die. I hoped he would tell you. I was ready to stand beside you; but he did not tell!"
"Tell—what? As God hears you, Priscilla, as you love me, and—and as I trust you, tell me what?"
And then Priscilla had told her. At first Margaret stood, taking the deadly blow like a Spartan woman, her grave eyes fixed upon Priscilla. Slowly the cruel truth, and all it implied, found its way through the armour of her nobility and faith. She began to droop; then, like one whose strength has departed, she dropped beside Priscilla's chair and clung to her. It had not taken long to tell, but it had lain low every beautiful thing but—courage!
"Back there," Margaret had said at last, "back there where we played, I told you I was ready for sacrifice. I thought my God was not going to exact that, but since he has, I am ready. Priscilla, I still have God! I wonder"—and, oh! how the weak, pain-filled voice had wrung Priscilla's heart—"I wonder if you can understand when I tell you that I love my love better now—than ever? Shall always love him, my poor boy! Can you not see that he did not mean—to be evil? It was the curse handed down to him, and when he found out—his love, our love, had taken possession of him, and he could not let me—go! I feel as if—as if I were his mother! He cannot have the thing he would die for, but I shall love him to the end of life. I shall try to make it up to him—in some way; help him to be willing and brave, to do the right; teach him that my way is the only—honourable way. I am sure both he and I will be—glad not—not to let others, oh! such sad, little others, pay the debt for us. Our day is—is short at best, but the—the eternity! And you, dear, faithful Cilla! You, with your blessed love, how will it be when I have done what I must do? I must go to—to father and tell the truth, and then——"