CHAPTER XXXV.
The brown curly head was resting on the snowy pillow. The maimed arm had been tenderly cared for, and already the tired eyes were drooping. It had been such an exciting day. So many changes had taken place. Cora’s heart had been stirred to its very depths and it was a relief to be at last alone. Alice was bending above her, and to bestow her a good night kiss upon the faintly smiling lips.
“Good night, dear one. I hope you may spend this first night within the walls of this home in restful sleep. I, too, am tired and wish to rest. If you should require anything, ring this bell, and I know Mary will instantly attend to your wants. The fact that you are Imelda’s sister will alone insure you the entrance to her heart.”
“O thank you! thank you ever so much. Everybody is so kind to me. I do not deserve it, I am sure.”
“O yes, you do. How can you speak like that? And now once more, good night.” Two pairs of warm clinging lips met in a loving kiss, then the form of Alice vanished, and Cora was alone. In but a few minutes sleep had closed the tired eyelids and happy dreams brought sweet smiles to the rosy lips.
Alice glided quickly through the silent hall until she reached her own cozy, comfortable room. It was in utter darkness, which fact, however, did not intimidate her in the least. At times she rather liked the darkness. It was then so pleasant to sit at the window star-gazing, and let her thoughts wander whithersoever they would. So she crossed the room to where a comfortable rocker was standing, and sinking into its depths with a weary sigh, she prepared herself for her favorite indulgence. Hastily undoing the fastenings of her dress she then clasped her hands above her head, gazing up into the starlit heavens, gently rocking back and forth in the darkness.
Suddenly she stopped and listened. It seemed to her there was someone else in the room. She could have sworn that the sound of heavy breathing had been borne to her ear, though now that she listened, everything was quiet. But the feeling of another’s presence seemed conveyed to her in the air itself—she felt it. With a quick nervous movement she rose and walked across the room. She could feel her very lips grow cold, but with a strength and courage of which one would scarce have believed the little woman capable, she controlled every outward manifestation of fear, and securing a match she deliberately struck it and, mounting a chair, lit two jets ere she ventured a single look about her; then with a smothered, frightened cry she would have fallen had not the man, whom she had seen and recognized, caught her in his arms and prevented a mishap. Gently he lifted her down and reseated her in the rocker at the window. He, too, was pale, white to the very lips, as he saw the impression his presence made upon the pale little woman. He stepped back a few paces and waited for her to speak, and when no sound came he hesitatingly, in trembling accents, articulated her name.
“Alice!”
But her only answer was a frightened look. Holding both his hands to her in a supplicating manner, venturing a step nearer,
“Alice, am I never to be forgiven? Listen to me! If ever a man has been thinking—if ever it has come to a human heart, or understanding, that a great wrong has been committed, it has come to me. I know I have wronged you. I know I have acted like a brute! But I would, in some way or measure, make good the wrong I have done.”