"Who sent these things?" she faltered.
"Our bosses, mum," replied the boy from the restaurant,
hesitatingly.
She sprang toward him, seized his arm, and looked imploringly into
his face. "Who ordered them sent?" she asked in a low, passionate
voice.
The young fellow began to smile, and stammered awkwardly, "I don't
think I'm to tell."
She released his arm and glanced around with a look of intense
expectation.
"Oh, oh!" she gasped with quick short sobs, "can it be--" Then she
sprang to the door, opened it, and looked out into the black,
stormy night. What seemed a shadow rushed toward her; she felt
herself falling, but strong arms caught and bore her, half
fainting, to a lounge within the room.
Many have died from sorrow, but few from joy. With her husband's
arms around her Mrs. Marlow's weakness soon passed. In response to
his deep, earnest tones of soothing and entreaty, she speedily
opened her eyes and gave him a smile so full of content and
unutterable joy that all anxiety in her behalf began to pass from
his mind.
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