Oh, the torture of the “ante-mortems” of beloved ones, at which we are all forced to assist!

Yet it could not be wondered at, that in this case the whole heart of the community was alive with interest and speculation.

Annie Ware’s sweet face had been known and loved in every house in our village.  Her father was the richest, most influential man in the county, and the most benevolent.  Many a man and woman had kissed Henry Ware’s baby in her little wagon, for the sake of Henry Ware’s good deeds to them or theirs.  And while Mrs. Ware had always repelled persons by her haughty reticence, Annie, from the first day she could speak until now, had won all hearts by her sunny, open, sympathizing nature.  No wonder that now, when they saw her again fresh, glad, beautiful, and looking stronger and in better health than she had ever done, they said that we were wrong, that Annie and Nature were right, and that all would be well!

This spring there came to our town a family of wealth and position who had for many years lived in Europe, and who had now returned to make America their home.  They had taken a furnished house for a year, to make trial of our air, and also, perhaps, of the society, although rumor, with the usual jealousy, said that the Neals did not desire any intimacy with their neighbors.  The grounds of the house which they had hired joined my uncle’s, and my Aunt Ann, usually averse to making new acquaintances, had called upon them at once, and had welcomed them most warmly to her house.  The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Neal and two sons, Arthur and Edward.  They were people of culture, and of wide experience; but they were not of fine organization nor of the highest breeding; and it will ever remain a mystery to me that there should have seemed to be, from the outset, an especial bond of intimacy between them and my uncle and aunt.  I think it was partly the sense of relief with which they welcomed a new interest—­a little break in the monotony of anxiety which had been for so many months corroding their very lives.

Almost before I knew that the Neals were accepted as familiar friends, I was startled one morning, while we were at breakfast, by the appearance of Annie on her pony, looking in at our dining-room window.  She had a pretty way of riding up noiselessly on the green grass, and making her pony, which was tame as a Newfoundland dog, mount the stone steps, and tap with his nose on the panes of the long glass door till we opened it.

I never saw her so angelically beautiful as she was this morning.  Her cheeks were flushed and her dark blue eyes sparkled like gems in the sun.  Presently she said, hesitating a little,—­

“Edward Neal is at the gate; may I bring him in?  I told him he might come, but he said it was too like burglary;” and she cantered off again without waiting to hear my mother’s permission.

All that morning Annie Ware and Edward Neal sat with me on our piazza.  I looked and listened and watched like one in a dream, or under a spell.  I foresaw, I foreknew what was to come; with the subtle insight of love, I saw all.