Just then a glowing log separated, and fell with a hissing sound; gradually the glow faded from it and it became gray and lifeless. “That’s it,” Meg soliloquized; “that log represents life. One moment so full of color and warmth, the next, a handful of ashes.—I hate Robert.—He looks very badly.—I wonder if he was in any danger.—I suppose his mother must have been terribly anxious.—Auntie would say I was sentimentalizing.—I wonder—” The tired head fell back against the cushion of the chair, and she slept dreamlessly and sweetly, till she was summoned to dinner.
“Her children arise up and call her blessed.”
Meg, refreshed by her nap, was her usual sprightly self at dinner. Mrs. Malloy looked weary and old, and had little to say. Robert, who dined only by courtesy, his repast consisting of a bowl of bouillon, conversed with Meg on the impersonal topics she selected.
He found it impossible to get on the old familiar footing. Even the subject of Aunt Amelia, she treated with respect, refusing to see the opportunities for ridicule which his polite inquiries furnished, and of which, once, she would have taken advantage. She was bright and gracious, but there was a new dignity about her, which forbade any approach to the doorway of her emotions.
Robert had forborne to reproach his mother. Being by instinct and breeding a gentleman, he did not say a word to wound her. Yet ever in his deference, she was conscious of his resentment. She knew that he attributed his failure to win Margie, to her interference. That, had he been left alone to shape his fate, his desire would have led him back to Valencia, there to woo and win the maiden in the old-fashioned conventional manner.
And through her over-zeal, his bubble had burst,—the prize was beyond his seeking!
She was very miserable in her self-communion. More so, perhaps, than either of her companions. With Robert, hope was not by any means extinct. With Margie, in spite of her schooling, and her wounded pride, the warmth and glow of life came into her heart, as she looked across at Robert, listened to his deep, expressive voice, and met his eyes, containing the message of love he dared not speak.
As they started to leave the dining-room, Mrs. Malloy turned suddenly white, and before Robert could catch her, she sank in a crumpled heap on the floor. It was only a fainting spell, induced by her unhappiness following so closely upon the exhaustion and anxiety attending Robert’s illness.