The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-09-11
CHAPTER ",

dow open, and the fresh sweet
air of spring brought gladness on
its wings. The honeysuckle, old
and great, that clothed the wall
beneath my window, just gave
signs of breaking into blossom;
leaning out, l plucked some sprays
and pinned them in my dress. A
thrush sung from bush below; my
heart kept echoing his notes OF love
and Joy. What cared for the
money, or its loss? Should l not
have my own love back again, and
watch his face regain its old bright
look of health and happiness9 Passed
by his side, and with our children
round, would not my life be pleasant
in some quaint old town of France7
And we would live so carefully, and
save money as years went on, until
some day might bring US to the dear
old Hall again, Unhappy?-no! few
moments in my life had happier been
than these.
And Walter was cheerful He
would soon be out Of the clutches OF
his obliging friends. The shock was
over. He had told me what had been
gnawing at his heart for SO long; he
was now looking his troubles fairly
in the face, and as usually happens,
found them not SO terrible in aspect
as he had imagined. He buttoned
his banknotes in his breast pocket
and started for the railway station.
He felt better and stronger to-day,
and, as the morning was so beauti-
fully fine, was tempted to walk the
five miles, instead of driving, as he
usually did.
We we're early risers, so he had
plenty of time, and | thought the
walk would do him good. Perhaps
it was the feeling of newly restored
confdence-perfect and true-which
now existed beween us that made
his farewell to me that morning even
more affectionate than it was wont
to be-made him insist upon having
all the children brought down, and
taking many a kiss from those little
rosy, pursed- up lips--made him pause
when he reached the furthest point
to which my eyes could follow him,
and turning, watt me one more fare
well.
I should have walked with him, at
any rate, part of the way; but house
hold duties had to be attended to-;
so, after watching his tall figure dis
appear at the turning of the drive, |
re-entered the house, hoping that the
day would pass quickly, and hasten
the evening wich would bring him
back again.
Months and months ago | had
promised a friend, who sighed in
far-away lands for English fields
again, to make, this spring a little
collection of dried ferns and send it
to her. The anxiety of the last few
months had driven the promise from
my mind, but as, this morning, l
pictured our own projected emigra-
ton, my thoughts turned to my dis
tant friend, and my broken promise
came back to me. determined that
on the first opportunity | would make
amends for my neglect.
Ferns, many of them scarce ones,
grew plentifully in our pleasant
country; but on the road that Walter
must take on his way to the station
they Aourished in unusual abund-
ance. | could obtain many varieties
close at hand, but some few grew
further off; so | asked Walter, if he
should chance to meet with any
specimens of these particular sorts,
to pick a frond or two, which he
could place between the leaves of
the book he carried. | wanted,
especially, a specimen of the North
ern Shield Fern, which even here is
not very common, growing as it does
in little patches, sometimes miles
apart. He laughed at my idle re-
quest, but promised to attend to it.
The day wore on, and the sun got
low. 1t was time to send the dog
cart to meet the train. Long, long
before the time had elapsed in which,
by any chance it could return, was
waiting at the window to welcome
Walter home again. l waited and
waited, until so many weary minutes
crawled away that l was fain to con-
clude he had been detained in Bris-
toll until the next and last train.
/ nursed my disappointment, and
killed the time as best l could. The
hour when l might surely expect him
came and passed. The train must
be late. opened the window, and
waited and listened for the sound of
his coming.