Molly started and rolled her heavy dark eyes around the room.
“Has—has—any one been here to see me?” she queried, faintly, an instant remembrance of her woes rushing over her mind.
“Yes, madame,” Phebe answered, and a wild light of hope flashed into the big, pathetic eyes of her mistress.
“Not—not,” she exclaimed, and choked with painful emotion, unable to utter another word.
“No, not your husband, my dear, but his brother, Doctor Charley,” said Phebe, gently stroking the little hand that lay outside the cover, nervously beating the silken counterpane. “He came and found you sleeping so sweetly that he said he would not wait, as he was in a hurry to catch a train for Paris.”
“He has gone! My last friend has deserted me,” Molly exclaimed in sudden, keen disappointment and despair.
“Not so bad as that, Mrs. Laurens, for he left a note that he said would explain all.”
“Give it to me, Phebe,” cried the poor child, sitting upright in bed and holding out her eager little hands.
She tore off the envelope in hot haste and read the hurriedly penciled lines with that morning’s date.
“My poor little sister, I failed to find Cecil last night. Like a coward he has run away from his misery, and I have just found out that he has gone to Paris. I must follow him at once, for I mean to bring him back to you. Take heart, be of good cheer, little one, and remain where you are until I come back with Cecil. I have talked to mother and father; but in the first keenness of their trouble they are obdurate. But be patient. They will all come round in time and forgive you for the sake of what is coming, and because you were so young and ignorant. Adieu.