Rose uttered a cry.
Mrs. Bordine stood staring, but when the man lifted his hat she uttered a
glad cry and rushed to his arms.
It was, or seemed to be, August Bordine.
Rose waited for her turn with a wildly beating heart.
"Stand aside mother, I would speak with Rose."
The mother stepped aside then.
There was something in the man's voice that sounded unnatural. She felt
chilled and rebelled. Could this be her boy, whom she loved so dearly,
casting her coldly aside for another. A mother's instincts are strong,
and she stared at the man with tear dimmed eyes as he took the hand of
Rose and led her aside.
"I could remain away no longer," he said, in low tones. "As I told you
last night, I need you to strengthen me for the ordeal that is to come.
Will you do it?"
But in spite of herself just then, Rose was unable to speak. She trembled
and felt cold chills passing over her body.
What did it mean?
The same influence was at work that had troubled the mother. She glanced
timidly into the man's face, and then trembled visibly. How strangely old
he looked, much different from the gay August of former times.
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