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Updated: June 3, 2025
Cameron's neck, rumpling her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the coiffeur of the astonished lady, who had seldom received so genuine a greeting as that which Katy gave her, kissing her lips and whispering softly: "I love you now, because you are Wilford's mother, but by and by because you are mine. And you will love me some because I am his wife."
I am glad God gave her to me, even if I am not Wilford's wife; and I am glad now that she died." She was talking to herself rather than to Morris, who, smoothing back her hair and chafing her cold hands, said: "My poor child, you have passed through some agitating scene. Are you able now to tell me all about it, and what you mean by another wife?"
At last, as he sat one day in his office, with the same worried look on his face, Mark, who had also been watching him, said: "By the way, Will, how did that sheep pasture come out, or didn't the client appear?" "Mark," and Wilford's voice was husky with emotion; "you've stumbled upon the very thing which is tormenting my life out of me.
Lennox." Convinced that Morris' sudden journey to New York had something to do with Katy's illness, and almost distracted with fears for her daughter's life, Mrs. Lennox could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail or careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting off her dread of Wilford's displeasure, she had come with Helen, and was bowing meekly to Mrs.
This was the superscription of a letter, postmarked New York, and brought to Helen within a week after Wilford's departure. It was his handwriting, too; and wondering what he could have written to her, Helen broke the seal, starting as there dropped into her lap a check for five hundred dollars.
"Who is that young man talking to Helen?" Mattie asked, between the acts, and when told that it was "Mr. Ray, Wilford's partner," she drew her breath eagerly, and turned again to watch him, envying the young girl who did not seem as much gratified with the attentions as Mattie fancied she should do were she in Helen's place.
Slowly the minutes went by, and Morris became at last aware that Wilford's eyes, instead of resting on the pallid face which seemed to grow each moment more pallid and ghastly, were fixed on him with an expression which made him drop the pale hand he held between his own, pooring it occasionally as a mother might poor and pity the hand of her dying baby.
A moment more and the elder Cameron appeared a short, square-built man, with a face seamed with lines of care and eyes much like Wilford's, save that the shaggy eyebrows gave them a different expression. He was very glad to see his son, though he merely shook his hand, asking what nonsense took him off around the Lakes with Mrs.
"Have I been sick?" she asked in a whisper, and Wilford, bending over her, replied: "Yes, darling, very sick for nearly two whole weeks ever since I left home that morning, you know." "Yes," and Katy shivered a little. "Yes, I know. But where is Morris? He was here the last I can remember." Wilford's face grew dark at once, and stepping back as Morris came in, he said: "She asks for you."
But it was Wilford's child, and so when for a moment both Helen and Katy turned to examine a rosebush just in bloom, Marian Hazleton hugged the little creature to her bosom, whispering over it a blessing which, coming from one so wronged, was doubly valuable.
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