reet now.
If I had attempted to speak to him he would have managed to avoid me;
and because I knew that, I came here, hoping to find Aimee; but since
Aimee is not here--"

"I can go," she interrupted him, all a-tremble with eagerness. "He will
listen to me; he was fond of me, too, and I was fond of him. Oh! let me
go now!"

That bright little scarlet shawl of Dolly's lay upon the sofa, and
she snatched it up with shaking hands and threw it over her head and
shoulders.

"If I can speak to him once, he will listen," she said; "and if he
listens, Dolly will be saved. She won't die if Grif comes back. She
can't die if Grif comes back. Oh, Dolly, my darling, you saved me, and I
am going to try to save you."

She was out in the street in two minutes, standing on the pavement,
looking up and down, and then she ran across to the other side. She kept
close to the houses, so that she might be in their shadow, and a little
sob broke from her as she hurried along,--a sob of joy and fear and
excitement. At the end of the row of houses somebody was standing under
the street lamp,--a man. Was it Grif,--or could Grif have gone even in
this short time? Fate could never have been so cruel to him, to her, to
them all, as to let him come so near and then go away without hearing
that Dolly was lying at death's portals, and no one could save her but
himself and the tender power of the sweet, old, much-tried love. Oh, no,
no! It was Grif indeed; for as she neared the place where he stood, she
saw his face in the lamp-light,--a grief-worn, pallid face, changed and
haggard and desperate,--a sight that made her cry out aloud.

He had not seen her or even heard her. He stood there looking toward
the house she had left, and seeing, as it seemed, nothing else. Only the
darkness had hidden her from him. His eyes were fixed upon the dim light
that burned in Dolly's window. She had not meant to speak until she
stood close to him; but when she was within a few paces of him her
excitement mastered her.

"Grif," she cried out; "Grif, is it you?"

And when he turned, with a great start, to look at her, she was upon
him,--her hands outstretched, the light upon her face, the tears
streaming down her cheeks,--sobbing aloud.

"Mollie," he answered, "is it _you?_" And she saw that he almost
staggered.

She could not speak at first. She clung to his arm so tightly that he
could scarcely have broken away from her if he had tried. But he did not
try;