" Tears, Mollie had shed none--the
blow that had fallen had left her far beyond that.
Nine o'clock struck; there was a tap at the prison door. Dr. Oleander,
thinking his patient's fast had lasted long enough, was coming with a
bountiful breakfast. There was no reply to the tap.
"Mollie," the doctor called, gently, "it is I with your breakfast. I am
coming in."
Still no response. He turned the key in the lock, opened the door and
entered.
What he had expected, Dr. Oleander did not know; he was in a little
tremor all over. What he saw was his poor, little prisoner crouched
on the floor, her face fallen on a chair, half hidden by the shower
of amber curls, sleeping like a very babe.
The hardened man caught his breath; it was a sight to touch any heart;
perhaps it even found its way to his.
He stood and looked at her a moment, his eyes getting humid, and softly
set down his tray.
"'The Sleeping Beauty,'" he said, under his breath. "What an exquisite
picture she makes! My poor little, pretty little Mollie!"
He had made scarcely any noise; he stood gazing at her spell-bound; but
that very gaze awoke her.
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