She unhesitatingly accepted the arm he offered her, and they fell into a social chat which grew so absorbing to both that distance became of no account, and Faxon was conscious of a sense of keen disappointment when his companion finally paused before her own door.
"Why, Miss Heatherford, you told me it was a long walk; I did not suppose we were half-way there yet!" he exclaimed in a tone that plainly betrayed his regret.
"I think you must be a practised pedestrian, for it is very nearly a mile," said Mollie with a silvery little laugh, "and, now, won"t you come in for a little rest before you make the return trip?"
Clifford would gladly have accepted the invitation and prolonged his enjoyment of her society for another half-hour, but he did not feel quite justified in doing so upon so short an acquaintance, and so politely excused himself.
"Then some other evening, Mr. Faxon, I shall be happy to have you call if you should feel inclined," Mollie cordially observed greatly to his delight.
"Thank you, Miss Heatherford; it certainly will give me great pleasure to do so, and I shall avail myself of the privilege at an early date,"
the young man responded, and he was on the point of bidding her good evening when Mollie lifted a shy glance to him and said:
"I feel that I owe you an apology, Mr. Faxon, for not recognizing you a few days ago when you saved me from having a fall from the car, but I was so surprised at the unexpected meeting that I was momentarily embarra.s.sed, and so failed to do my duty."
"Pray do not be disturbed," Faxon returned with a heart-throb of gladness. "I saw you were somewhat overcome, and the omission was not to be wondered at under the circ.u.mstances."
"I knew you at once," Mollie continued naively and with charming frankness, "and I feared afterward that you might attribute my seeming neglect to an unworthy motive."
"Indeed, no--I hope I could not so wrong you, although you will allow me to say that I was somewhat disappointed," Clifford replied in the same spirit.
He then bade her a reluctant "good evening," lifted his hat, and went away. It seemed to him that he was walking on air as he retraced his steps up-town.
At last he had met and learned the name of the divinity who for years had been his inspiration, whose fair face and deep blue eyes had haunted both his waking and sleeping hours; whose sweet girlish tones and thrilling words had rung like a melodious refrain in his ears for nearly six long years.
It had been a great trial to him not to know who she was, and he had been more irritated over the fact that Philip Wentworth had refused to give him any information regarding her than he usually allowed himself to become over anything. It had been like a poisoned dagger in his heart when that young man had arrogantly boasted of his engagement to the girl who had given him the cameo, which was the choicest treasure he possessed.
But now he knew that Philip had lied--the occurrence of that evening had proved to him that no such tie had ever existed between the two. To be sure, Wentworth had addressed her by the familiar name "Mollie," but her manner toward him had plainly indicated that, although she might previously have regarded him as a friend, she had never surrendered her heart into his keeping.
This a.s.surance set every pulse bounding with a feeling of exultation, and a vague, sweet hope that possibly he might yet awaken some responsive chord in her nature that as yet had been untouched began to take root in his heart.
He blessed the fates that had sent him upon an errand that night into the locality where he had found her in trouble, and thus enabled him to go to her rescue. Then that never-to-be-forgotten walk had seemed leading him straight toward Paradise, the door of which Mollie had opened to him by her invitation to call--a privilege of which he resolved to avail himself at a very early day.
And three evenings later found him standing at her door, seeking admittance.
Eliza answered his ring and showed him into the cosy homelike parlor, and five minutes later Mollie appeared, looking charming in a dainty house-gown of some soft, white material without an atom of color save her blue eyes and glorious hair to mar its chaste simplicity.
She almost always wore white at home--it had been her custom since childhood, for her father loved to see her in it.
She greeted Faxon with a cordiality which a.s.sured him that he was most welcome, and his heart thrilled with joy unspeakable as he observed the lovely color that suffused her face as he clasped her hand and responded to her salutation. She put him at his ease at once by seating herself near him and beginning to chat freely of Washington and its society; of politics and politicians and various current topics. Then she gradually drifted to other things, and finally to their first meeting, after which she adroitly led him to speak of his college life, struggles, and experiences.
He was surprised to find how freely and almost involuntarily he opened his heart to her of those things which he had seldom mentioned to others, and when he concluded he held up and showed her the cameo ring upon his hand.
"It has been my mascot," he said, smiling, "and I can never make you understand how much it has meant to me. But I never presumed to wear it in public until the day I took my degree and only occasionally since."
"I am afraid you have prized my simple souvenir far beyond its worth,"
said Mollie, flushing. "It was really intended for a good-luck ring, however. I purchased it, and had it marked for a cousin who was going West to live, but as some one else had already given him a ring I kept it and sent him something else. Have you discovered its little secret, Mr. Faxon?"
"Yes," said Clifford, as he touched the spring and the stone lifted from its place; but he did not tell her then how he had learned it, "and I have wondered during all these years until I met you the other night what these tiny initials stood for."
"Marie Norton Heatherford," Mollie repeated with a flush as she observed the look with which he was regarding the letters.
Then to dispel the feeling of embarra.s.sment she smilingly added:
"But, Mr. Faxon, I am afraid I should have felt that I was doing rather a bold thing to offer a gentleman a ring marked with initials if I had stopped to think about it that day--not that I regretted the ring, believe me," she interposed, as he glanced up at her quickly, "it was a very little thing to express all that I felt, but the letters rather troubled me. I--I almost hoped you would not find them."
"Ah! but the initials and the horseshoe have been its chief charm to me," Clifford returned earnestly; "somehow they seemed to be a link between the giver and myself, although, of course, I did not know what they stood for. And, now that I have met you again, may I have your permission to wear it constantly?"
"By all means, if you wish--I am sure you will honor my little souvenir by doing so," Mollie responded with downcast eyes and bounding pulses.
She began to tell him something of her own life since that day; how a few days later she and her parents had sailed for Europe to remain for several years; how she had lost her mother during her sojourn abroad, and one misfortune followed another until just after her return to this country the grand crash had come that had made her father penniless.
"Yes," she said, with a little regretful sigh at an exclamation of sympathy from Faxon, "papa met with loss after loss, until a year and a half ago we found that we were literally homeless and almost penniless.
A friend helped him to a position here in Washington, and for a while we were very comfortable and happy; but papa lost his health, and for several months past has been very ill--is, in fact, a hopeless invalid."
"That is very sad," Clifford gravely observed, "and the change in your life must have seemed hard--even cruel."
"I don"t know as I can say that," said Mollie reflectively; "I believe I have rather enjoyed the change in some respects."
"Enjoyed it!" repeated her companion astonished.
"Yes," Mollie brightly affirmed, "for I then began to feel that I was really of some use in the world. After papa gave up business I secured a position, and I am now working regular hours every day; were it not for my father"s pitiable condition, I believe I should be perfectly happy. I think it is grand to feel that one has the power to win one"s own way in the world."
Faxon regarded her with mingled admiration and sympathy. He knew just the feeling she described, for he had experienced the same thrill of proud independence while working his way through college and also since he had begun to know something of the real business of life, in spite of the many crosses and hardships that he had endured.
Then a wild, sweet hope took possession of his heart as he realized that she no longer inhabited a sphere so far above him socially that she was, as he had always believed her to be, utterly beyond his reach.
She was every whit as poor as himself, according to her own frank acknowledgment--there was now no golden barrier between them. Why, then, might he not hope to win her--this fair, brave, sweet girl who had been the star and the inspiration of his life during the last six years?
CHAPTER IX.
LANGUAGE OF THE MOSS-ROSE.
"And so you do not regret the loss of fortune nor of fortune"s friends?"
Clifford questioned, while with the fond, new hope in his heart he regarded her with more of tenderness in his glance than he was aware of.
And Mollie flushed beneath his look, more because she was becoming conscious that something within her was springing forth to meet that which shone in his eyes than because of embarra.s.sment.
"I cannot quite say that, Mr. Faxon," she gravely replied, "for I should be glad of an independent income--even though it was small--that would enable me to do more for my father and put him under the constant care of experts; for, in spite of what the physicians have told me, I cannot quite give up all hope. I cannot bear to think that he must live on indefinitely in his present darkened mental condition.
"But as for myself," with an uplifting of her pretty head that denoted conscious strength, "I do not regret the experience of the last two years which the loss of fortune has brought me, and which has proved to me that it is more n.o.ble and satisfactory to be a useful woman than a b.u.t.terfly of fashion. As for the "friends of fortune," that was well put, Mr. Faxon, for those who have turned the cold shoulder upon me were simply that and nothing more, and there is nothing to regret. It is far better to have discovered the truth than to go on being cajoled and deceived. I may say that there are but few whom I can regard as true friends, and most of those I have made since I became a working girl.
What a queer world it is, isn"t it? What a strange element there is in humanity, which, as a rule--though there is now and then a rare exception--does not take into account the real worth of an individual, but is ready to hug to the heart a mental beggar and a moral leper, provided he is sufficiently gilded with money. Can you explain it?"
"I think it can all be summed up in one word, Miss Heatherford, and that is--selfishness," Clifford replied.