He folded the note hurriedly across and put it into Florine’s hand with a gold piece.
“That’s for your kindness to my wife, my good girl,” he said. “Now, if she is awake, give her the note at once. If she is asleep, let her have it as soon as she awakens. I shall wait here a few minutes to hear from you.”
Florine courtesied low, took the note and disappeared in a moment inside that door on which Cecil’s wistful eyes were eagerly fastened. Then she thrust the note into her pocket and looked eagerly around the room.
“Ah!” she exclaimed.
There was a note, as she had expected—a note not even sealed.
It lay upon a little table at the head of the bed where Florine usually placed the glass of water Molly drank at night.
Florine read the brief note hastily and without compunction.
Then she put it back upon the table and opened the door, beckoning excitedly to Cecil, who was waiting at the stair-way.
He came hurriedly, believing that Molly had summoned him, eager, like himself, for a reconciliation.
He stepped quickly across the threshold, and Florine panted, wildly: