“Drive faster!” Cecil thundered to the coachman, and held Molly’s limp form tightly against his heart, little dreaming that this was a parting embrace. In a minute they paused in front of The Acacias, and Cecil got out of the carriage and went through the gate with his wife in his arms. “Poor little one, I did not know she was so nervous and weak. She has had too much excitement lately, too much gayety. I must be more careful with my tender-hearted little wife. I will take her away from London for a time to some quiet retreat where she can get her strength back,” he was thinking as he went up the steps, and as he rang the bell he pressed an adoring kiss on the pale face lying on his breast. The door was opened at once, and seeing the drawing-room open and hearing his mother’s voice, Cecil went in hastily with his burden. CHAPTER XIX. He had not expected to find any one in the room except his father and mother, but the first person his eyes encountered was a stranger--a tall, handsome woman with abundant hair of the color of dead-gold, and eyes that matched the hair in hue with just a little more of brightness caught from a yellowish gleam in the dilated orbs. Brows and lashes of the same peculiar color as her hair went with a clear-white complexion brightened with a tint of rouge upon the cheeks. Her tall, symmetrical figure was draped in rich black silk and jet and a bonnet of the same crowned her small head, the dark costume intensifying her peculiar beauty. Cecil Laurens’ gaze took in this stranger for just an instant before he saw behind her a tall, gaunt figure in gray silk that took him back with a rush to Ferndale. It was old Mrs. Barry herself, grimmer and grayer than ever, and with a stern aspect that was enough to daunt the bravest soul. Cecil laid his unconscious wife hurriedly down upon a sofa and exclaimed: “Dear Mrs. Barry, this is very sudden and pleasant--but see, my wife has fainted. Mother!” Stately, aristocratic Mrs. Laurens trailed her silken robes slowly across the room, her husband following, until both stood in front of the sofa where Molly lay in her unconscious beauty like one dead. “She fainted in the carriage,” Cecil said, anxiously. “What must I do for her? Shall I summon a physician?” “No!” said a sharp, sibilant voice before Mrs. Laurens could speak, and old Mrs. Barry crossed the room stiffly and stood before Cecil. In her feeble, cracked voice, sharpened by anger, and with features distorted by fury, she exclaimed: “Call nobody, do nothing, Cecil Laurens! Let the impostor who tricked an old woman and fooled a young man lie there and die! It is the best thing that could happen to you both!” “Mrs. Barry, you are certainly out of your mind!” exclaimed the young man, indignantly. He had already fallen down on his knees and was chafing Molly’s cold, limp hands in both his own. “Louise, Louise!” he called, anxiously, and the lady in black silk rustled forward.