“There is a strange man and a pretty little girl coming up the maple avenue.”
Cecil made no answer. He was pretending to be absorbed in a book. His mother relapsed into silence, watching curiously the man and child coming up the maple avenue, over the drifts of autumn leaves that strewed the ground with a gold and crimson carpet.
He was a good-looking man well dressed in a black suit, with the air and manner of a gentleman. The child he led by the hand was about five years old, daintily dressed in crimson cashmere and a broad white Leghorn hat, beneath which fell soft golden curls, framing a pretty, tear-stained little face.
Mrs. Laurens saw the man and child going up the steps, and a sudden vague suspicion darted into her mind.
“That strange child, good Heaven, what if Molly Trueheart has sent Cecil’s child home at last!” she muttered.
The door-bell clanged loudly, making her start with excitement. The next moment the library door opened and a servant handed in a card.
Mrs. Laurens glanced at Cecil. He was paying no attention to the little by-play. She glanced down again at the card, and read:
“John Keith to see Mrs. Laurens.”
“Gemmon in de parlor, mistis,” said the old colored man, and Mrs. Laurens followed him without a word.
She went along the wide hall, shaking with emotion.