Molly sat sewing in the window, mending his shirts, the light outlining her form and her head like a red flower. He covered his face with his hand and a smothered groan escaped him, and he fell back on the pillow. Molly ran to him, terrified: "a relapse," that's what it was. The doctor had warned her.
"God in heaven!" she cried, and knowing nothing better to do, she put her arms round him as if he had been a boy. She saw the tears trickle through his thin hands that in his idleness had grown white, though the dark ridges around the broken nails were blackened still.
Fairfax quickly regained his control and made the girl go back to her work. After a little he said—
"Who's been paying for all these medicines, and so forth?"
"Lord love ye, that's nothing to cry about."
"There is money in my vest pocket, Molly; get it, will you?"
She found a roll of bills. There were twenty dollars.
She exclaimed—
"That's riches! I've only spent the inside of a five-dollar bill."