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قراءة كتاب The Heatherford Fortune a sequel to the Magic Cameo
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

The Heatherford Fortune a sequel to the Magic Cameo
works of art and numerous curios which he had gathered from various portions of the world by playing various instruments, for he was very talented in music and could play the organ, harp, piano, and violin with more skill than many a professional while he could talk of masters and artists, giving their history and merits, with a fluency which proved him thoroughly posted in such matters. He was also very thoughtful for Mr. Heatherford, often sending his carriage to take him out for an airing, the coachman and footman being instructed to show him every attention while wines, fruits, and other delicacies for him mysteriously found their way into Eliza's domains.
He also had learned much of the girl's past, previous to her misfortunes; he studied her from day to day and learned to reverence the strength of character and purity of purpose which were apparent in her every act, and thus there grew up a strong and abiding friendship between the fair young girl and the courtly Frenchman.
One morning Mollie started forth, at the usual hour, to go to the office, and for some reason she seemed brighter and happier than common. She was in perfect health, there was an exquisite color in her cheeks, her lips were like holly berries, and her eyes glowed with the hope and vigor that belonged to her young life.
She was clad in a golden-brown broadcloth costume, trimmed with narrow bands of sable fur. It was one of the last dresses she had bought in Paris, recently made over by a clever modiste—whom she had discovered near her—and it fitted her exquisitely, showing her finely proportioned figure to good advantage. Her hat matched her suit in color and was brightened by the wing of a Baltimore oriole. In her well-gloved hands she carried a rich, but modest pocketbook—another relic of the past, and no one would have dreamed, as this stylish and elegantly clad young woman stepped upon the street-car on her way to Monsieur Lamonti's office, that she was working for her daily bread.
She might have passed for the wife or daughter of some senator or other distinguished official—although it was rather an early hour for the elite to be abroad—and many an admiring eye lingered upon her bright beauty.
In the car her eye was attracted by a gentleman who was standing near her. He was clinging to a strap overhead, and as Mollie's glance swept over him and upward, along his arm to the hand above, her heart gave a great startled bound, her cheeks flushed a vivid scarlet, and her eyes darkened until they seemed almost black.
CHAPTER III. MOLLIE MEETS HER HERO.
The gentleman who had attracted Mollie's attention was above the medium height, broad-shouldered, erect, and with a fine, well-poised head which was covered with dark-brown hair. He was nicely, though not richly clad, although he looked the gentleman, every inch, while his bearing was as quietly dignified and self-possessed as if he had been the possessor of millions.
He was standing with his back toward Mollie, and she could not see his face, thus he was utterly unconscious of the beautiful eyes that were resting upon him and also of the commotion which he had roused in the heart of the possessor of those same lovely eyes.
It was not the stalwart figure, nor the proud, nobly formed head, which had especially attracted her attention. It was the strong and shapely hand that was firmly grasping the strap above him and upon the little finger of which he wore an exquisitely cut cameo ring.
Mollie had recognized it instantly—she would have known it anywhere, for it was the ring which she had given to Clifford Faxon, six years previous, when, acting upon the impulse of the moment, she had sought him out at New Haven to thank him, individually, for the lives he had saved when, though only a farmer's bound boy, he had prevented a terrible railroad wreck.
Again, as on that occasion, she was strangely thrilled by his presence, even though he was unconscious of her own.
How she wished that he would turn his head so that she could obtain a view of his face! She knew, well enough, that it was in keeping with the splendid form before her and with what she knew of the character of the man, but she wanted to see if she could trace familiar lines in it; if it still wore the same frank, honest expression of six years ago; if the magnificent brown eyes still retained their clear, earnest, straightforward glance; if the lips wore the same genial smile. Then she found herself wondering if he would remember her, or whether she had changed so much that he would merely glance indifferently at her and then pass her like any stranger. What right had she to think he would recognize her? she mentally questioned with an impatient shrug of her shoulders, the flush deepening again upon her cheeks.
She had been only a miss in short dresses and one among the hundreds who had been eager to honor him upon that occasion—to grasp him by the hand and shower grateful thanks upon him. True she had given him the ring as a souvenir, and told him she should love him all her life for what he had done—how her face burned as she recalled those impulsive words—but he had received from others what had doubtless proved to be a far more useful and practical gift—the generous purse of money.
But why did he wear the ring if he treasured no pleasant memory of the giver? This thought set her heart to fluttering again in a way that was highly foreign to the usual self-possession of the recent society belle, but it was quickly followed by the somewhat mortifying reflection that the cameo was a valuable and unique affair and quite a treasure of art to possess.
Every pulse thrilled anew when, as she signaled the conductor to stop, she observed the young man preceding her, as if he also was about to alight. Mollie followed closely, hoping that she might be fortunate enough to get a view of his face.
He stepped off the car, and paused to wait for it to pass on, before crossing the street, as was evidently his intention.
Mollie, with her thoughts full of the past, in which he had figured so conspicuously, was a little heedless as she alighted, her foot turning awkwardly, and she would have fallen if her "hero" had not sprung to her side, and, with a courteous, "allow me," grasped her arm and saved her from what might have been a painful accident.
"Thank you very much," she said with a brilliant smile and blush, as she recovered herself, and lifted her gleaming eyes to the handsome face which she had so longed to see.
The young man started at the sound of her voice, and then bent an earnest look upon her, an expression of perplexity sweeping over his features. Then, almost instantly, his countenance cleared, a glad, eager light leaped into his eyes, which Mollie saw were unchanged, and there was a repressed thrill of triumph in his tones as he earnestly observed:
"I hope you are not hurt."
"Not in the least, I assure you, and I owe it to your timely aid," Mollie returned, an answering ring of joy in her own voice, as she saw that he remembered her, in spite of the changes time had made in her.
But, even though she realized that he was lingering with the hope that she would make the first advances and reference to their former meeting, as certainly belonged to her to do, a sudden and unaccountable shyness seized her. She stooped to brush some dust that had adhered to her skirt, then, with another smile and bow, she entered Monsieur Lamonti's office. A moment later she bitterly repented having allowed the precious opportunity to pass unimproved.
"Why," she mentally exclaimed, with a sense of scorn for herself. "I acted just