Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

Everard took very kindly to his visits. Moritz turned up at all hours, with all sorts of excuses. He would send up messages to the nurses, and very often would waylay Nurse Helena in the road outside. Nurse Helena, who had a kindly, womanly nature, would smile a little sadly, as she walked on. "He does not know, poor man, that he has a rival," she said to herself. "There is a Monsieur Blackie. I have heard the name often. But, poor child, what does it matter?" And here Nurse Helena shook her comely head. For that day, dear, sweet Mollie was at her worst. And Moritz was like a man distracted.

That afternoon Thorold Chaytor came home unusually early. He was bringing his work with him. Joanna and Betty were spending the day with a friend at Richmond, and Tristram had promised to join them in the evening, so he would have the house to himself.

It was nearly four o'clock, but down by the river there was still light. The water had a cold, steely gleam on it, and the black hulls of the boats drawn up on shore, looked hard and forbidding. There was a touch of frost in the air, and as Thorold lingered for a moment on the bridge, he was surprised to see a solitary figure on the towing-path. The next moment he uttered an exclamation, and then walked rapidly in the same direction; his keen, far-sighted eyes had recognised the pedestrian.

Waveney's restlessness had amounted almost to disease that day; she simply could not sit still. All the morning she had been wandering over the common with the little dogs running beside her, and the moment luncheon was over she started off on an errand to the Model Lodging-house.

Her limbs ached with fatigue, but a streak of red sunset, casting a glow on the river, attracted her irresistibly, and though the light had long faded, and the air was chill and damp, she still paced up and down; but she started, and a sudden giddiness came over her, as a deep voice accosted her.

"Miss Ward, is this wise or right? Have you no regard for your health?" and Thorold's voice was unusually stern; but even in that dim light, the drawn pallor of her face frightened him. Could sickness and sorrow of heart have wrought this change in these few days?

"Perhaps I have walked too much," she returned, faintly. "I am so fond of walking, and the river is so beautiful, and there is nothing else to do." And then a sudden impulse of self-preservation made her catch at his arm. "I am so giddy," she said, in a tired little voice. "If I only could sit down a moment!"

"There is a seat near," he returned, quietly; "let me help you." And then his strong arm almost lifted her off the ground. The next moment she was on the bench; but his arm was still around her. She was not faint; her eyes were wide open and fixed on the water, but her strength had gone, and, as far as he could judge, she seemed scarcely conscious of her surroundings. She even submitted like a child when he drew her head against his shoulder.

"Do not try to speak. It will pass, and you will be better soon." And then he felt her pulse. The feeble beats spoke of utter exhaustion. Very likely she had eaten nothing all day. There was only one thing to be done. She must be warmed and fed, and then he must take her home.

"Do you think you could walk a little now?" he asked, when a few minutes had passed, and the cold breeze from the river seemed to pierce through him. "It is not safe to sit any longer. There is a frost to-night, and we have only such a little way to go. Will you try?—and I will help you."