The subject was dropped, and in a few minutes his
gentle skill had well nigh made Fleda forget what
they had been talking about. Himself and his
wishes seemed to be put quite out of his own view,
and out of hers as far as possible; except that the
very fact made Fleda recognize with unspeakable gratitude
and admiration the kindness and grace that were always
exerted for her pleasure. If her good-will could
have been put into the cups of coffee she poured out
for him, he might have gone in the strength of them
all the way to England. There was strength of
another kind to be gained from her face of quiet sorrow
and quiet self-command which were her very childhood’s
own.
“You will see me at the earliest possible moment,”
he said when at last taking leave.—“I
hope to be free in a short time; but it may not be.
Elfie—if I should be detained longer than
I hope—if I should not be able to return
in a reasonable time, will you let my mother bring
you out?—if I cannot come to you will you
come to me?”
Fleda coloured a good deal, and said, scarce intelligibly,
that she hoped he would be able to come. He did
not press the matter. He parted from her and
was leaving the room. Fleda suddenly sprang after
him, before he had reached the door, and laid her
hand on his arm.
“I did not answer your question, Mr. Carleton,”
she said with cheeks that were dyed now,—“I
will do whatever you please—whatever you
think best.”
His thanks were most gratefully though silently spoken,
and he went away.
Chapter LII.
Daughter, they seem to say,
Peace to thy heart!
We too, yes, daughter,
Have been as thou art.
Hope-lifted, doubt-depressed,
Seeing in part,—
Tried, troubled, tempted,—
Sustained,—as thou
art.
Unknown.
Mr. Rossitur was disposed for no further delay now
in leaving Queechy. The office at Jamaica, which
Mr. Carleton and Dr. Gregory had secured for him,
was immediately accepted; and every arrangement pressed
to hasten his going. On every account he was
impatient to be out of America, and especially since
his son’s death. Marion was of his mind.
Mrs. Rossitur had more of a home feeling, even for
the place where home had not been to her as happy
as it might.
They were sad weeks of bustle and weariness that followed
Hugh’s death; less sad perhaps for the weariness
and the bustle. There was little time for musing,
no time for lingering regrets. If thought and
feeling played their Eolian measures on Fleda’s
harpstrings, they were listened to only by snatches,
and she rarely sat down and cried to them.
A very kind note had been received from Mrs. Carleton.
April gave place to May. One afternoon Fleda
had taken an hour or two to go and look at some of
the old places on the farm, that she loved and that
were not too far to reach. A last look she guessed
it might be, for it was weeks since she had had a
spare afternoon, and another she might not he able
to find. It was a doubtful pleasure she sought
too, but she must have it.
