Search      Hot    Newest Novel
HOME > Short Stories > Light O' The Morning > CHAPTER XXV. — THE BLOW.
Font Size:【Large】【Middle】【Small】 Add Bookmark  
 Notwithstanding all the efforts of at least five merry girls, there was a cloud over the remainder of that afternoon. Nora's face was anxious; her gay laugh was wanting; her eyes wore an abstracted, far-away look. The depression which the letters of the morning had caused was now increased tenfold. If she joined in the games it was without spirit; when she spoke there was no animation in her words. Gone was the Irish wit, the pleasant Irish humor; the sparkle in the eyes was missing; the gay laughter never rose upon the breeze. At tea things were just as bad. Even at supper matters had not mended.  
Molly now persistently avoided her cousin. Stephanotie and she were having a wild time. Molly, to cover Nora's gloom, was going on in a more extravagant way than usual. She constantly asked Jehoshaphat to come to her aid; she talked of Holy Moses more than once; in short, she exceeded herself in her wildness. Linda was so shocked that she took the Armitage girls to a distant corner, and there discoursed with them in low whispers. Now and then she cast a horrified glance round at where her sister and the Yankee, as she termed Stephanotie, were going on together. To her relief, toward the end of the evening, Mrs. Hartrick came into the room. But even her presence could not suppress Molly now. She was beside herself; the look of Nora sitting gloomily apart from the rest, pretending to be interested in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, was too much for her. She knew that a bad time was coming for Nora, and her misery made her reckless. Mrs. Hartrick, hearing some of her naughtiest words, said in an icy tone that Miss Truefitt had sent a maid for Stephanotie; and a few moments afterward the little party broke up.
As soon as the strange girls had departed, Mrs. Hartrick turned immediately to Molly.
“I am shocked at your conduct,” she said. “In order to give you pleasure I allowed Miss Miller to come here; but I should have been a wiser and happier woman if I had taken dear Linda's advice. She is not the sort of girl I wish either you or Nora ever to associate with again. Now, go straight to your room, and don't leave it until I send for you.”
Molly stalked off with a defiant tread and eyes flashing fire; she would not even glance at Nora. Linda began to talk in her prim voice. Before she could utter a single word Nora had sprung forward, caught both her aunt's hands, and looked her in the face.
“Now,” she said, “I must know. What did that telegram say?”
“What telegram, Nora? My dear child, you forget yourself.”
“I do not forget myself, Aunt Grace. If I am not to go quite off my head, I must know the truth.”
“Sit down, Nora.”
“I cannot sit; please put me out of suspense. Please tell me the worst at once.”
“I am sorry for you, dear; I really am.”
“Oh, please, please speak! Is anything—anything wrong with father?”
“I hope nothing serious.”
“Ah! I knew it,” said Nora; “there is something wrong.”
“He has had an accident.”
“An accident? An accident? Oh, what? Oh! it's Andy; it must be Andy. Oh, Aunt Grace, I shall go mad; I shall go mad!”
Mrs. Hartrick did not speak. Then she looked at Linda. She motioned to Linda to leave the room. Linda, however, had no idea of stirring. She was too much interested; she looked at Nora as if she thought her really mad.
“Tell me—tell me; is father killed?”
“No, no, my poor child; no, no. Do calm yourself, Nora. I will let you see the telegram; then you will know all that I know.”
“Oh, please, please!”
Mrs. Hartrick took it out of her pocket. Nora clutched it very hard, but her trembling fingers could scarcely take the little flimsy pink sheet out of its envelope. At last she had managed it. She spread it before her; then she found that her dazed eyes could not see the words. What was the misery of the morning to the agony of this moment?
“Read it for me,” she said in a piteous voice. “I—I cannot see.”
“Sit down, my dear; you will faint if you don't.”
“Oh! everything is going round. Is he—is he dead?”
“No, dear; nothing very wrong.”
Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Login into Your Account

  Remember me on this computer.

All The Data From The Network AND User Upload, If Infringement, Please Contact Us To Delete! Contact Us
About Us | Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Tag List | Recent Search  
©2010-2018, All Rights Reserved