tering footsteps she approaches the fatal door, whilst the
others disperse and return once more to the drawing-room,--all, that
is, except Lady Stafford, who seeks her own chamber, and Mr. Potts,
who, in an agony of doubt and fear, lingers about the corridor,
awaiting Molly's return.

As she enters her grandfather's room she finds him lying on a couch,
half upright, an angry, disappointed expression on his face, distrust
in his searching eyes.

"Come here," he says, harshly, motioning her with one finger to his
side, "and tell me why you, of all others, should have chosen to play
this trick upon me. Was it revenge?"

"Upon you, grandpapa! Oh, not upon you," says Molly, shocked. "It was
all a mistake,--a mere foolish piece of fun; but I never thought
_you_ would have been the one to see me."

"Are you lying? Let me look at you. If so, you do it cleverly. Your
face is honest. Yet I hear it was for me alone this travesty was
enacted."

"Whoever told you so spoke falsely," Molly says, pale but firm, a great
indignation toward Marcia rising in her breast. She has her hands on
the back of a chair, and is gazing anxiously but openly at the old man.
"Why should I seek to offend you, who have been so kind to me,--whose
bread I have eaten? You do not understand: you wrong me."

"I thought it was your mother," whispers he, with a quick shiver, "from
her grave, returned to reproach me,--to remind me of all the miserable
past. It was a senseless thought. But the likeness was awful,--appalling.
She was my favorite daughter, yet she of all creatures was the one to
thwart me most; and I did not forgive. I left her to pine for the
luxuries to which she was accustomed from her birth, and could not then
procure. She was delicate. I let her wear her heart out waiting for a
worthless pardon. And what a heart it was! _Then_ I would not
forgive; now--_now_ I crave forgiveness. Oh, that the dead could
speak!"

He covers his face with his withered hands, that shake and tremble like
October leaves, and a troubled sigh escapes him. For the moment the
stern old man has disappeared; only the penitent remains.

"Dear grandpapa, be comforted," says Molly, much affected, sinking on
her knees beside him. Never before, by either brother or grandfather,
has her dead mother been so openly alluded to. "She did forgive. So
sweet as she was, how could she retain a bitter feeling? Listen to me.
Am I not her only child? Who so meet to offer you her p