There was no reply to the tap.
"Mollie," the doctor called, gently, "it is I with your breakfast.

I am coming in." Still no response.

He turned the key in the lock, opened the door and entered.
What he had expected, Dr.Oleander did not know; he was in a little tremor all over.

What he saw was his poor, little prisoner crouched on the floor, her face fallen on a chair, half hidden by the shower of amber curls, sleeping like a very babe.
The hardened man caught his breath; it was a sight to touch any heart; perhaps it even found its way to his.
He stood and looked at her a moment, his eyes getting humid, and softly set down his tray.
"'The Sleeping Beauty,'" he said, under his breath.

"What an exquisite picture she makes! My poor little, pretty little Mollie!" He had made scarcely any noise; he stood gazing at her spell-bound; but that very gaze awoke her.
She fluttered like a bird in its nest, murmured indistinctly, her eyelids quivered a second, then the blue eyes opened wide, and directly she was wide awake.
"Good-morning, Mollie," said the doctor.