Mr. Walraven remembered the anonymous note, and started violently. An
instant later, they heard a servant open the door, and then a wild,
ringing shriek echoed through the house.
There was one simultaneous rush out of the drawing-room, and
down-stairs. There, in the hall, stood Wilson, the footman, staring and
gasping as if he had seen a ghost; and there, in the door-way, a
silvery, shining vision, in the snowy bridal robes she had worn last,
stood Mollie Dane!
CHAPTER X.
THE PARSON'S LITTLE STORY.
There was a dead pause; blank amazement sat on every face; no one
stirred for an instant. Then, with a great cry of joy, the Welsh baronet
sprung forward and caught his lost bride in his arms.
"My Mollie--my Mollie! My darling!"
But his darling, instead of returning his rapturous embrace, disengaged
herself with a sudden jerk.
"Pray, Sir Roger, don't make a scene! Guardy, how d'ye do? Is it after
dinner? I'm dreadfully tired and hungry!"
"Mollie! Good heavens, Mollie! is this really you?" gasped Mr. Walraven,
staring aghast.
"Now--now!" cried Miss Dane, testily; "what's the good of your asking
ridiculous questions, Guardy Walraven? Where's your eyesight? Don't you
see it's me? Will you kindly let me pass, gentlemen? or am I to stand
here all night on exhibition?"
Evidently the stray lamb had returned to the fold in shocking bad
temper.
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