She was the one earthly blossom that bloomed in Marian's solitary
path.
Angel now sat with her rabbit on her knees, waiting demurely till Marian
should have time to notice her.
And the lady still worked on, stopping once in a while to smile upon the
child. There was a file of the evening papers lying near at hand upon
the table where she wrote, but Marian had not yet had time to look at
them. Soon, however, she had occasion to refer to one of them for the
names of the members of the Committee on Public Lands. In casting her
eyes over the paper, her glance suddenly lighted upon a paragraph that
sent all the blood from her cheeks to her heart. She dropped the paper,
sank back in her chair, and covered her blanched face with both hands,
and strove for self-control.
Angel softly put down the rabbit and gently stole to her side and looked
up with her little face full of wondering sympathy.
Presently Marian began passing her hands slowly over her forehead, with
a sort of unconscious self-mesmerism, and then she dropped them wearily
upon her lap, and Angel saw how pallid was her face, how ashen and
tremulous her lip, how quivering her hands. But after a few seconds
Marian stooped and picked the paper up and read the long,
wonder-mongering affair, in which all that had been and all that had
seemed, as well as many things could neither be nor seem, were related
at length, or conjectured, or suggested.
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