“Yes, Wilford Cameron, from New York,” Helen answered, holding up her skirts and s-s-kt-ing at the kitten which came running toward her, evidently intent upon springing into her lap.
Fear of cats was Helen’s weakness, if weakness it can be called, and in her efforts to frighten her tormentor she did not look again at Miss Hazelton until startled by a gasping cry and heavy fall. Marian had fainted, and Helen was just raising her head from the floor to her lap when Morris appeared, relieving her of her burden, of whom he took charge until she showed signs of life. In her alarm Helen forgot entirely what they were talking about when the faint came on, and her first question put to Marian was, “Were you taken suddenly ill? Why did you faint?”
There was no answer at first; but when she did speak Marian said, “I am still so weak that the least exertion affects me, and I was bending over the table; it will soon pass off.”
If she was so weak she was not able to work, Helen said, proposing that the plan be for the present abandoned, but to this Marian would not listen; and her great eager eyes had in them so scared a look that Helen said no more on that subject, but made arrangements for her coming to them at once. Morris was to leave his patient some medicine, and while he was preparing it, Helen had time to notice her more carefully, admiring her lady-like manners, and thinking her smile the sweetest she had ever seen. Greatly interested in her, Helen plied Morris with questions of Miss Hazelton during their ride home, asking what he knew of her.
“Nothing, except that she came to North Silverton a year ago, opening her shop, and by her faithfulness, and pleasant, obliging manners, winning favor with all who employed her. Previous to her sickness she had a few times attended St. Paul’s at South Silverton, that being the church of her choice. Had Helen never observed her?”
No, Helen had not. And then she spoke of her fainting, telling how sudden it was, and wondering if she was subject to such turns. Marian Hazelton had made a strong impression on Helen’s mind, and she talked of her so much that Katy waited her appearance at the farm-house with feverish anxiety. It was evening when she came, looking very white, and seeming to Helen as if she had changed since she saw her first. In her eyes there was a kind of hopeless, weary expression, while her smile made one almost wish to cry, it was so sad, and yet so strangely sweet. Katy felt its influence at once, growing very confidential with the stranger, who, during the half hour in which they were accidentally left alone, drew from her every particular concerning her intended marriage. Very closely the dark blue eyes scrutinized little Katy, taking in first the faultless beauty of her face, and then going away down into the inmost depths of her character, as if to find out what was there.
“Pure, loving innocent, and unsuspecting,” was Marian Hazelton’s verdict, and she followed wistfully every movement of the young girl as she flitted around the room, chatting as familiarly with the dressmaker as if she were a friend long known instead of an entire stranger.
“You look very young to be married,” Miss Hazelton said to her once, and shaking back her short rings of hair Katy answered, “Eighteen next Fourth of July; but Mr. Cameron is thirty.”
“Is he a widower?” was the next question, which Katy answered with a merry laugh. “Mercy, no! I marry a widower! How funny! I don’t believe he ever cared a fig for anybody but me. I mean to ask him.”
“I would,” and the pale lips shut tightly together, while a resentful gleam shot for a moment across Marian’s face; but it quickly passed away, and her smile was as sweet as ever as she at last bade the family good night and repaired to the little room where Wilford Cameron once had slept.