“It is Cecil!” she exclaimed, gladly, and her first impulse was to leave the room in search of him; but the thought of Mrs. Laurens’ cold eyes and scornful lips drove her back with her feet upon the threshold. “I must wait. He will come to me here,” she murmured, sinking back into her chair and trembling with joyful agitation. Phebe hurried in presently with a beaming face. “Oh, my dear, your husband is come!” she exclaimed, joyfully. “Yes, I know--my heart told me,” said the eager girl. “Oh, Phebe, how soon shall I see him? Will he come to me here?” “Of course, my pet. But try to be patient, Mrs. Laurens. He is with his father and mother now.” “I ought to be first!” Molly cried, with kindling cheeks, then the flush faded quickly as it had come, and she murmured, plaintively: “but I can not expect that now. I must be content with the slightest favors. I shall be thankful only to see him once again.” She looked wistfully at Phebe. “Am I very thin? Do I look very ill?” she asked, anxiously. “Do not bother about your looks, my dear. No one could expect you to look well in your condition and after such an illness,” the maid cried, soothingly. “But I must not look ugly in Cecil’s eyes. He used to think me so pretty. Oh, Phebe, can’t you fix me a little so that I shall not look so ill? And draw the curtains, and soften the light. It shines too brightly on my faded face.” Phebe humored her as if she had been a sick child. She dropped the heavy curtains of silk and lace between the girl’s face and the too garish light of day. Then she brought from the dressing-room a rose-pink wrapper trimmed with soft swan’s-down and pink satin ribbons. When Molly was dressed in this, and her curly hair arranged in a pretty, careless, fluffy fashion, she looked lovely in spite of her illness and delicate pallor. “You are pretty enough now to win his love over again,” declared Phebe, fondly. “Now sit here quietly in this chair, and wait for him patiently until he comes.” “Did he say he would come soon, Phebe?” “He did not speak to me, my dear. I only saw him come in at the door with his brother, and they went into the parlor with their parents. But of course, when they tell him how sick you have been, he will hasten to you.” Molly did not answer, only sat with wide-open dark eyes fixed on the closed door. An excited color glowed on her cheeks, and her parted lips emitted quick, almost sobbing, breaths. To herself she was saying, feverishly: “I will throw myself at his feet and tell him everything. He will see that Louise was as much to blame as I was, and he can not refuse to forgive me. If he does, I shall die!” She looked around with her wistful, fever-bright eyes at Phebe. “I’m not impatient,” she said, plaintively; “but he is so long in coming! It is more than an hour.”