“All the afternoon; I’ve nothing on, and hoped you’d linger with me,” replied Miss Braithwaite, putting her arm around the girl.
Thus she led her into that dusky, glowing room which had so charmed Cis on the preceding evening, and again put her into the deep chair of that first acquaintance.
“Miss Braithwaite, I’ve been to confession,” Cis said abruptly.
“That accounts for the new quiet, an atmosphere of peace about you, Cicely dear,” said Miss Braithwaite, leaning over and putting her hand on the girl’s bright hair. “You have enlisted! Thank God for that. Don’t imagine the victory is won, but your side can’t lose, you know; it’s only a matter of days and weeks! Then your banner on the tower!”
“Yes, Miss Braithwaite,” said poor Cis somewhat forlornly. “I am thankful, you know. Only—What must be done I’d better do as quickly, as fast as I can. I promised to let him—let Rod hear from me. He has no idea where I am. He will have looked for me everywhere that I might have been, but he’ll never guess I’m here. He is half mad by now. I must write him and send him this ring. I must tell him it is good-bye. Miss Braithwaite, I can’t see him! I couldn’t bear what he would say to me. I’m afraid to see him, that’s the truth, but it would kill me to say good-bye, see him go away—I can’t stand it!” Cis’s voice rose on a hard, sharp note, and Miss Braithwaite laid her own hand over Cicely’s.
“I know, I understand. I’ll keep him off you. Write him here, now, dear Cis, and inclose the ring. Don’t harass yourself by writing a long letter; the whole matter can be condensed into a few words. You have chosen God; you are true to your first promises; that is all. But be sure to tell him how fully you appreciate his truth in dealing with you, albeit he spoke tardily, for we do not forget that we want to bring Rodney right, and it will infuriate him if he thinks that you do not attribute to him the good that was in him when he gave you the chance you are taking to free yourself from a wrong position,” said this good woman, patting Cicely’s hand as mothers pat their babies to sleep.
“Yes, Miss Braithwaite; I’d thought that would be what I must do,” said Cis. “I have nothing with me, you know. Have you a pen that won’t be spoiled by another person’s using it? It ruins pens to lend them; I know that.”
“Plenty of pens, besides the one that I guard like a seven-headed monster!” declared Miss Braithwaite rising with an alacrity that forbade Cis’s considering the coming note in its proper light. “Come to my desk over here, and take any pen you like, save that one.”
Cis followed her, and took the straight chair which stood before the desk.
She wrote slowly, pausing often, passing her hand over her eyes frequently, as if she could not see, but there was no moisture on the fingers afterward.