The last, low, yellow gleam died out of the sunset—slowly crept up the twilight, palely, gemmed with stars. A round, red moon showed its crimson disk above the silvery horizon line, whitening as it arose, until it trailed a flood of crystal radiance over the purple bosom of the sleeping sea. And still Mollie sat there, watching the shining stars creep out, and still the fairy bark floated lazily with the drifting current. She could have sat there and watched him forever—her noble, gallant Hugh! But by and by, as the night wind grew chill, the little white boat, glided away and disappeared.
The entrance of Mrs. Sharpe, with her night-lamp, aroused Mollie from her trance. She turned eagerly round to greet her. Next to Hugh Ingelow, her hope now was in this mysterious woman.
Mrs. Sharpe closed the door carefully after her, set the lamp on the table, dropped the curtain, and then turned her face to Mollie. One look at that face told Mollie something had occurred.
"What is it?" she asked in a breathless whisper.
And Susan Sharpe, bending down, whispered hurriedly:
"Doctor Oleander is here."
Mollie barely repressed a cry. Susan Sharpe caught her, in alarm, by the shoulder.
"Hush! Are you crazy? Not a word. Yes, he's down-stairs—came half an hour ago. Don't look so frightened—he won't trouble you this time."
"This time," repeated Mollie, noticing the emphasis. "What do you mean?"
"That he was only run down to see how we get along, and to tell us to be all ready for an early start. We are going to Cuba."