She seemed to have forgotten all about her new protégés, Mrs. Douglass and Mrs. Cheriton; but one day, on looking over the cards left during her sickness, she found one which brought the crimson tide back to her pale cheeks.
It was a card with the name in print,—Harold Angus; and underneath, in a fine hand, was written Juliette Cheriton, with the street and number of her boarding-place.
"Oh, how much I have to do!" Marion said. "I forgot this lady entirely."
Annie wondered what caused the pained voice and firmly set lips of her friend, but she only said soothingly,—
"Don't worry, dear. Tell me if there is any thing I can do to help you."
Marion put her hand wearily to her head, and in answer to Annie's earnest remonstrance, pleading that she would think of nothing about business now, she only asked,—"How soon will the doctor be here?"
"Not for some hours yet. You will have time for a good nap."
"Please give me my pen and paper: I must write a few words, then I will try to rest; and, Annie dear, will you leave me alone a few minutes?"
The table was drawn nearer, materials for writing placed within reach, and Annie, after a wistful glance at her friend, left the chamber. If she could have looked back and seen the weary, tired, pained expression which came over her friend's face as she seized the pen, she might have doubted whether she was acting wisely to leave her.
The note was quickly written, indeed the words were dashed off with a fierce energy, as though she doubted her ability to finish, unless at once. It read thus:—