Carpenter! A carpenter, indeed!'
said Dolores, laughing for a moment. 'Oh! if it is that, I don't
mind.'
The weight was lifted, but by-and-by, when the two girls said their
prayers together, poor Dolores broke forth again, 'Oh, Mysie, Mysie,
your papa has all--all of you, besides mamma, to pray that he may be
kept safe, and my father has only me, only horrid me, to pray for him,
and even I have never cared to do it really till just lately! Oh, poor,
poor father! And suppose he should be drowned, and never, never have
forgiven me!'
It was a trouble and misery that recurred night after night, though
apparently it weighed much less during the day--and nobody but Mysie
knew how much Dolores was suffering from it. Lady Merrifield was
increasingly anxious as time went on, and still no mail brought letters
from Mr. Mohun, but confidence based on his erratic habits, and the
uncertainty of communication began to fail. And as she grieved more
for the possible loss, she became more and more tender to her niece,
and strange to say, in spite of the terror that gnawed so achingly
every night, and of the ordeal that the Lent Assizes would bring,
Dolores was happier and more peaceful than ever before at Silverton,
and developed more of her bright side.
'I really think,' wrote Lady Merrifield to Miss Mohun, 'that she is
growing more simple and child-like, poor little maid. She is
apparently free from all our apprehensions about dear Maurice, and I
would not inspire her with them for the world.
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