“I shall ask my father,” she said, “whether he wishes me to have such words from you. If he does, you shall say what you please to me. But as to Walter, I will ask nobody. Till he is able to take care of himself, I shall not let you plague him. I will fight you first! There now!” The flashing eyes and determined mouth of Molly, who had risen, and stood regarding her aunt in a flame of honest anger, cowed her. She shut her jaws close, and looked the picture of postponement. That instant came the voice of Mr. Colman: “Molly! Molly!” “Yes, Richard!” answered Miss Hancock, rising. But Molly was out of the door, almost before her aunt was out of her chair. Walter had asked where she was, and wanted to see her. It was the first wish of any sort he had expressed! CHAPTER XXIX. DREAM-MOLLY. So far better as to be able to talk, Walter one day told Molly the strange dream which, as he looked back, seemed to fill the whole time almost from his leaving his lodging to his recognition of his father by his bedside. It was a sweet day in the first of the spring. He lay with his head toward the window, and the sun shining into the room, with the tearful radiance of sorrows overlived and winter gone, when Molly entered. She was at once whelmed in the sunlight, so that she could see nothing, while Walter could almost have counted her eyelashes. “Stand there, Molly,” he cried, “one moment! I want to look at you!” “It is not fair!” returned Molly. “The sun is in my eyes! I am as blind as a bat!” “I won’t ask you, if you mind, Molly!” returned Walter. In these days he had grown very gentle. He seemed to dread the least appearance of exaction. “I will stand where you like, and as long as you like, Walter! Have you not consented to live a little longer with us! Oh, Walter, you don’t know what it was like when the doctor looked so grave!” Molly stood in the sun, and Walter looked at her till his eyes were wearied with the brightness she reflected, and his heart made strong by the better brightness she radiated. For Molly was the very type of a creature born of the sun and ripened by his light and heat--a glowing fruit of the tree of life amid its healing foliage, all splendor, and color, and overflowing strength. Self-will is weakness; the will to do right is strength; Molly willed the right thing and held to it. Hence it was that she was so gentle. She walked lightly over the carpet, because she could run up a hill like a hare. When she caught selfishness in her, she was down upon it with the knee and grasp of a giant. Strong is man and woman whose eternal life subjects the individual liking to the perfect will. Such man, such woman, is free man, free woman. Molly was in a daring dress of orange and red. Scarce a girl in London would have ventured to wear it; few girls would not have looked vulgar in it; yet Molly was right. Like a dark-colored sunflower, she caught and kept the sun.