the gentleman who had attracted mollie's attention was above the medium height, broad-shouldered, erect, and with a fine, well-poised head which was covered with dark-brown hair. he was nicely, though not richly clad, although he looked the gentleman, every inch, while his bearing was as quietly dignified and self-possessed as if he had been the possessor of millions.
he was standing with his back toward mollie, and she could not see his face, thus he was utterly unconscious of the beautiful eyes that were resting upon him and also of the commotion which he had roused in the heart of the possessor of those same lovely eyes.
it was not the stalwart figure, nor the proud, nobly formed head, which had especially attracted her attention. it was the strong and shapely hand that was firmly grasping the strap above him and upon the little finger of which he wore an exquisitely cut cameo ring.
mollie had recognized it instantly—she would have known it anywhere, for it was the ring which she had given to clifford faxon, six years previous, when, acting upon the impulse of the moment, she had sought him out at new haven to thank him, individually, for the lives he had saved when, though only a farmer's bound boy, he had prevented a terrible railroad wreck.
again, as on that occasion, she was strangely thrilled by his presence, even though he was unconscious of her own.
how she wished that he would turn his head so that she could obtain a view of his face! she knew, well enough, that it was in keeping with the splendid form before her and with what she knew of the character of the man, but she wanted to see if she could trace familiar lines in it; if it still wore the same frank, honest expression of six years ago; if the magnificent brown eyes still retained their clear, earnest, straightforward glance; if the lips wore the same genial smile. then she found herself wondering if he would remember her, or whether she had changed so much that he would merely glance indifferently at her and then pass her like any stranger. what right had she to think he would recognize her? she mentally questioned with an impatient shrug of her shoulders, the flush deepening again upon her cheeks.
she had been only a miss in short dresses and one among the hundreds who had been eager to honor him upon that occasion—to grasp him by the hand and shower grateful thanks upon him. true she had given him the ring as a souvenir, and told him she should love him all her life for what he had done—how her face burned as she recalled those impulsive words—but he had received from others what had doubtless proved to be a far more useful and practical gift—the generous purse of money.
but why did he wear the ring if he treasured no pleasant memory of the giver? this thought set her heart to fluttering again in a way that was highly foreign to the usual self-possession of the recent society belle, but it was quickly followed by the somewhat mortifying reflection that the cameo was a valuable and unique affair and quite a treasure of art to possess.
every pulse thrilled anew when, as she signaled the conductor to stop, she observed the young man preceding her, as if he also was about to alight. mollie followed closely, hoping that she might be fortunate enough to get a view of his face.
he stepped off the car, and paused to wait for it to pass on, before crossing the street, as was evidently his intention.
mollie, with her thoughts full of the past, in which he had figured so conspicuously, was a little heedless as she alighted, her foot turning awkwardly, and she would have fallen if her "hero" had not sprung to her side, and, with a courteous, "allow me," grasped her arm and saved her from what might have been a painful accident.
"thank you very much," she said with a brilliant smile and blush, as she recovered herself, and lifted her gleaming eyes to the handsome face which she had so longed to see.
the young man started at the sound of her voice, and then bent an earnest look upon her, an expression of perplexity sweeping over his features. then, almost instantly, his countenance cleared, a glad, eager light leaped into his eyes, which mollie saw were unchanged, and there was a repressed thrill of triumph in his tones as he earnestly observed:
"i hope you are not hurt."
"not in the least, i assure you, and i owe it to your timely aid," mollie returned, an answering ring of joy in her own voice, as she saw that he remembered her, in spite of the changes time had made in her.
but, even though she realized that he was lingering with the hope that she would make the first advances and reference to their former meeting, as certainly belonged to her to do, a sudden and unaccountable shyness seized her. she stooped to brush some dust that had adhered to her skirt, then, with another smile and bow, she entered monsieur lamonti's office. a moment later she bitterly repented having allowed the precious opportunity to pass unimproved.
"why," she mentally exclaimed, with a sense of scorn for herself. "i acted just like a bashful schoolgirl, and ought to be ashamed of myself. it was my place, when i saw that he knew me, to recognize him. how unappreciative and indifferent he must think me—how ill-mannered, when i told him that day that i should never forget him. i am more sorry than i can express, for perhaps he is in washington only for a few days, and i may never meet him again. how utterly stupid of me!"
but in spite of these keen regrets, the girl's heart was unusually light all day, for the "hero" of her girlhood had more than fulfilled her anticipations; she had realized, during those few months, when they had stood face to face, that he was strong and true and manly in the highest acceptation of the terms; she believed that he was destined to distinguish himself in the future, but what made her especially happy was the fact that he had not forgotten her—that he had been glad to meet her again, as both his look and tone had testified.
with these reflections came the sudden revelation of her exact attitude toward philip wentworth. the contrast between the two young men was marked and suggestive. phil was the pleasure-loving man of the world, living only for what entertainment he could extract from life and society. clifford faxon was the thoughtful, conscientious worker, with some high and earnest purpose in view that would not only promote his own individual interests, but also advance the standard of men and methods in general, and mollie now saw that she had never even been in danger of loving phil—that he was hardly worthy of even her respect, and she almost scorned herself for having hesitated an instant when he had declared his love for her, a little more than a year ago, during her visit in brookline.
she had never seen him since leaving boston, although he had often asserted that he was "coming to washington." his letters had been growing few and far between, each one colder and more formal in its tone. not once had he renewed his protestations of love for her, although there was a vein of assumption—a kind of taken-for-granted style in his epistles which might be interpreted to mean much or nothing; there certainly had been nothing tangible in them, and it had been several months now since she last heard from him. but had he remained as true as the needle to the pole, she knew now that she never could have married him after this meeting with clifford faxon.
"oh, any one can see that he is head and shoulders above phil, mentally, morally, and, almost that, physically," she mused, as she recalled cliff's splendid physique, his thoughtful face and earnest eyes. "i hope i shall meet him again some day," and the sigh that supplemented this reflection told how deeply she regretted the lost opportunity of the morning.
clifford faxon himself was fully as much exercised in view of the unexpected meeting and its unsatisfactory results. he had not observed mollie particularly at first, except that he had realized that some one had made a misstep, and almost involuntarily he had tried to avert an accident; but the instant she spoke, her tones had betrayed her to him—he had never forgotten them. many and many a time in his dreams, both waking and sleeping, he had seemed to hear her silvery voice vibrating with its thrill of fervent gratitude in those words so indelibly stamped upon his heart: "you have saved my life—you have saved all our lives, and it is such a wonderful—such a grand thing to have done! i am very grateful to you, for my life is very bright. i love to live. oh, i cannot say half there is in my heart; but i shall never forget you—i shall love you for your heroism of this day always."
then, as he had studied the lovely face, he had traced the well-remembered features, even though she had changed and bloomed from the slip of a girl in short dresses and with that shining braid of hair hanging between her shoulders, into this beautiful and stylish young woman, with her perfect form, her queenly carriage and elegant apparel.
he saw that she had recognized him, for he had been quick to note the light that had leaped into her eyes and the conscious flush that had suffused her face, and, though he was disappointed, he was half-inclined to believe what was really the truth, that a sudden shyness, produced by the unexpected encounter, had alone caused her to refrain from referring to their former meeting, and yet, believing her to be still the petted child of fortune and far above him, socially, his sensitiveness suggested that she might not now care to renew their acquaintance—if such it could be called—in spite of her assurance that she should "never forget him."
he also had been in washington for more than a year. he had come, as he had told maria kimberly he contemplated doing, with mr. hamilton, who had opened the —— house the first of that season. he had served him for nearly a year, and then, through the influence of some gentlemen who were guests in the hotel, he had secured a government position, and was proving himself so efficient he bade fair to rise still higher in the service of the nation.
it is rather remarkable that he and mollie should never have met before during all this time; but it was one of those happenings which can never be accounted for.
and even though they had at last encountered each other, he experienced the same perplexity that mollie had felt, not knowing whether she was there merely for a few days, as a sightseer, and would immediately float away again beyond his reach, or whether her father had some official position and was residing in the city. it was all very tantalizing, especially the fact that he did not even know her name. he had often heard mrs. temple call her mollie, and philip wentworth had refused to tell him anything about her, except to boast that she was his fiancée.
then, as these memories crowded upon him, he caught his breath sharply as a sudden, terrible fear took possession of him. possibly this fair mollie, this gloriously beautiful girl, who was his ideal of all that was perfect in womanhood, might already be philip's wife, for only a day or two previous the temples had passed him on the street in their carriage, and his former classmate was with them.
when mollie entered the office that morning she found it empty, monsieur lamonti not having arrived, although he was almost invariably there before her. he came a few moments later, however, but appeared sad and preoccupied, and upon mollie inquiring if he were ill he said no, but that lucille was far from well. she had been feverish and restless all night. he had called a physician that morning, but he spoke lightly, saying that her indisposition was only the effect of a slight cold, and she would be all right in a day or two.
but the gentleman was evidently very much disturbed, and finally confessed to mollie that he would be obliged to go to new york that afternoon, and could not return until the next evening. the approaching separation and suspense, he said, seemed almost unbearable, particularly as lucille was ill.
"i know that nannette is, as a rule, careful and faithful," he observed, "but somehow i feel very reluctant to leave the child alone with her."
mollie turned to him eagerly.
"monsieur, would you feel more comfortable if i should go and remain with lucille and nannette until you return?" she inquired.
the man's face cleared instantly at the suggestion.
"would you be so good, mademoiselle?" he asked in a relieved tone. "could you be spared from your father?"
"oh, yes; eliza can do everything necessary for papa, and i will gladly stay with lucille," mollie replied.
monsieur lamonti accepted her offer most gratefully, upon this assurance, and when his carriage came to him he drove home with her to tell eliza what her plans were, after which they repaired to his residence.
they found lucille much better than she had been in the morning, and monsieur lamonti prepared for his journey with restored cheerfulness, and finally took his departure, feeling quite content.
mollie took lucille wholly in charge for the remainder of the day, and allowed nannette, who had been closely confined within doors, to have a little time to herself, and she went out to visit and take tea with a friend.
she returned about nine in the evening to find her charge sleeping quietly and restfully, and mollie reading a new book in the library.
they soon retired, mollie occupying monsieur lamonti's room, which adjoined, although it did not connect with the one where lucille and nannette slept. mollie said she preferred this arrangement to being put off in the guest chamber, as she would feel less lonely.
after shutting herself into the room for the night—although she did not lock the door—not feeling sleepy, she began to look about the apartment, which, like the rest of the house, was full of beautiful and interesting things—fine paintings on the walls, choice books and bric-a-brac on tables and mantle, and in one corner a cabinet of curios, rare and costly.
mollie spent a long time looking these latter over and reading from the "key" their history and the names of the far-off places whence they had come. but she grew weary of this occupation after a while and finally began to prepare for bed.
while thus engaged she observed on a stand behind the bed what appeared to be a book having a curious cover. she attempted to take it up when the top came off, and she was startled to find it was a box containing a small, but beautiful silver-mounted revolver.
her start, however, was only momentary, for mollie knew something about firearms, having had some practise at shooting at a target while she was abroad. she lifted the weapon and examined it carefully, noting the curious chasing on the silver, the number of chambers, and also that it was loaded.
she finally laid it back in its place, replacing the cover, and had scarcely done so when, for the first time, she noticed upon the opposite side of the room a small safe. for a moment an uncomfortable sensation began to creep over her, for the safe and the loaded revolver suggested that there might be valuables to be defended in the former—possibly, she thought, costly jewels, which might have belonged to lucille's mother and grandmother.
but she put away the feeling with a little shrug and smile, resolutely put out the electric lights, then crept into bed and was soon dreaming, as on two previous nights since her meeting with him, of the hero of her girlhood—clifford faxon.
the next she knew she was vaguely conscious of hearing the cathedral clock in the hall strike two; then she was suddenly broad awake, every sense painfully on the alert, although she could not, for the moment, move a muscle, as the conviction was forced upon her that some one was moving stealthily about the room.
