For every day the good news was verified, and Mollie made slow but steady progress to recovery. Only once had there been a return of anxiety, when, for one long half-hour, Mollie's weakness was so great that Nurse Helena feared sudden collapse. Everard did not tell Waveney this. But he kept her well acquainted with every little detail of the sick room—what nourishment Mollie took, and how many hours she slept, and even a speech or two, repeated by her nurses.
Once she sent her dear love to Waveney. And another time she asked if Mr. Ingram ever came to the house, and had looked both pleased and surprised when she heard he had been daily. "Twice or three times a day" would have been no exaggeration of the truth. But Nurse Helena wisely kept this to herself. For, of all things, she dreaded any agitation or excitement for her patient.
When Waveney grew stronger she drove daily with one or other of the sisters. And when the February sunshine tempted her, she took short strolls over the Common, with Fuss and Fury.
One Sunday afternoon, when Althea and Doreen were occupied as usual, Waveney put on her hat and went out. There had been rain the previous night, and the garden paths were damp. And at luncheon Althea had recommended her to take a little walk, in the direction of the golf links, as it would be higher and dryer there.
"Do not go too far, and tire yourself," had been her parting words. "Remember Thursday." As though Waveney could have forgotten it, for a moment! For that day she was to see her dear Mollie again.
It was a lovely afternoon. The air was soft and balmy, and full of the promise of spring, and thrushes and blackbirds were singing for joy, because the dark, wintry days were over.
Waveney could have sung with them, out of very gratitude and happiness. Oh, how sweet life was! After all, Mollie was getting well, and——But here Waveney flushed and walked on more rapidly; for there were certain thoughts that made her heart beat too quickly.
"I am very faithless," she was saying to herself, as she came in sight of her favourite seat. It was in a little hollow, and in the summer the larches and willows made a pleasant shade. There was a pond near, where children loved to sail their little boats, or throw sticks in the water for some excited dog.
In her letters to Mollie, she had called it "her green parlour."
She would have rested there for a few minutes, but she saw it was occupied by a gentleman, so she walked on slowly. The next moment, however, she heard her name pronounced, and Thorold Chaytor stood beside her.