Cicely looked at her very tenderly.
"I don't think he has left you out, darling! I fancy he has thought of you a great deal. He has sent to enquire after you every day."
Maryllia was silent for a minute. Then, with her own quaint little air of authority and decision, she said—
"Well!—I want to see him now. In fact, I must see him,—not only as a friend, but as a clergyman. Because you know I may not live very long—-"
"Maryllia!" cried Cicely, passionately—"Don't say that!"
"I won't, if you don't like it!" and Maryllia smiled up at her from her pillows—"But I think I should like to speak to Mr. Walden. So, as you will be passing the rectory on your way to fetch Miss Eden and the children, will you go in and ask him if he will come up and see me this afternoon?"
"I will!" And Cicely ran out of the room with a sense of sudden, inexplicable excitement which she could scarcely conceal. Quickly putting on her hat and cloak, she almost flew down the Manor avenue, regardless of the fact that it was raining dismally, and only noticing that there was a scent of violets in the air, and one or two glimmerings of yellow crocus peeping like golden spears through the wet mould. Arriving at the rectory, she forgot that she had not seen Walden at all since Maryllia's accident, and scarcely waiting for the maid Hester to announce her, she hastened into his study with startling suddenness. Springing from his chair, he confronted her with wild imploring eyes, and a face from which ever vestige of colour had fled.
"What is it?" he muttered faintly—"My God spare me!—she—she is not dead?"
"No, no!" cried Cicely, smitten to the heart with self-reproach at her own unthinking impetuosity—"No—no—NO! Oh what an utter idiot I am! Oh, Mr. Walden, I didn't think—I didn't know—oh, dear Mr. Walden, I'm so sorry I have alarmed you—do, do forgive me!—-" And she began to cry bitterly.
He looked at her vaguely for a moment,—anon his face relaxed, and his eyes softened. Advancing to her, he took both her hands and pressed them.