The hands of Alice were closely pressed upon her wildly beating heart. Her lips were twitching in a manner that caused Lawrence’s heart to give a bound. In a moment he had forgotten that he was the supplicant. He knelt at her side and caught both her hands in his, pressing and chafing them.
“Alice! Alice! little girl. Don’t look at me like that. You need not be afraid of me now, or ever again. I mean every word that I say. Come, trust me! It is the one boon I ask”—and he gently drew the excited little woman nearer to him, winding his arm about her as tenderly as of yore. Laying his face to hers, his lips touched the pretty pink ears.
“Little sister,” he whispered, “can you, will you once more trust me?”
“Little sister?” Had she heard aright? What was the meaning the words conveyed? A hysterical sob broke from her lips, and as she permitted him to enfold her in his embrace, with an impulsive movement she placed her hands on either side of his face,
“Lawrence! Lawrence! do you mean it? You have not come to mock me?”
“I mean it, little girl, every word of it. Henceforth, you shall be my dearly cherished sister, with just the same liberty and privileges I would grant to her, were you really a sister and dearly loved as such.”
A few moments she leaned back that she might the better look him in the eyes. Then she wound her arms about his neck and nestled her head close upon his breast and the words,
“I love you, Lawrence,” thrilled him to his innermost being. He understood well the meaning of those words. He had called her sister, and he knew the love she gave him now was the same as every pure woman gives a dearly loved and cherished brother.
Once again a week had passed, and again merry laughter resounded through the rooms. Happy voices were heard blending in song while skillful fingers evoked sweet strains of music. But faces which were new within these rooms—though not new to us, were revealed in the bright light. Edith and Hilda Wallace had found their way into this enchanted circle tonight. Alice was seated at the piano. Her fingers lightly running over the keys, playing the accompaniment to Cora’s rich sweet voice as it rose and fell in the cadence of sweet strains of song. The two were like a world unto themselves tonight, paying little attention to the others, each of whom was absorbed in giving attention to someone else. While Hilda actually seemed to fascinate Lawrence Westcot,—so absolutely was his attention riveted upon the sweet serious girl who possessed such a fund of knowledge that he thought he never had been so rarely entertained, Edith had taken Norman Carlton in tow, and by her serene and placid manner had so captivated him that for the past hour he had actually forgotten his queenly Imelda, who in her turn was talking just as seriously to a smooth-faced boy whose bright, intelligent countenance was a perfect mirror of the emotions that were being stirred within that young breast. Sometimes the blue eyes flashed, and with a quick peculiar motion of the hand he would toss back the fair hair from the white open brow; then he would ask question after question that, with never failing readiness, Imelda would answer.