CHAPTER Lx.x.xIX.

"Oh, how frightened I was!" exclaimed Nettie, as her mother applied some healing salve to a slight burn on her arm; "how frightened I was, at that fire!"

"You mean, how frightened you were _after_ the fire," replied her mother, smiling; "you were so bewildered, waking up out of that sound sleep, that I fancy you did not understand much about the danger till after good Johnny Galt saved you."

"If I did not love Neddy so much, I should certainly give Johnny Galt my picture," said Nettie, with a sudden outburst of enthusiasm.

"I will see that Johnny Galt is rewarded," replied Ruth. "But this is the day Mr. Walter was to have come. I hope Johnny Galt will meet him at the Depot as he promised, else he will be so alarmed about our safety when he learns of the fire. Dear me! how the rain comes down, it looks as though it meant to persevere."

"Yes, and _pour-severe_ too," said Nettie, with an arch look at her mother.

Katy and Ruth had not finished laughing at this sally, when Mr. Walter was announced.

His greeting was grave, for he trembled to think of the danger they had escaped. After mutual congratulations had been exchanged, a detailed account of their escape given, and Johnny Galt's heroism duly extolled, Mr. Walter said:

"Well, I am glad to find you so comfortably housed after the fire; but the sooner I take all of you under my charge, the better, I think.

What do you say to starting for ---- to-morrow? Are you sufficiently recovered from your fright and fatigue?"

"Oh, yes," replied Ruth, laughing; "do we not look as good as new? Our wardrobe, to be sure, is in rather a slender condition; but that is much easier remedied than a slender purse, as I have good reason to know."

"Very well, then," said Mr. Walter; "it is understood that we go to-morrow. I have some business to look after in the morning; shall you object to waiting till after dinner?"

"Not at all," replied Ruth. "In my opinion nothing can equal the forlornness of forsaking a warm bed, to start breakfastless on a journey, with one's eyes half open."

"'Floy,'" said Mr. Walter, taking a package from his pocket, "I have obeyed your directions, and here is something which you may well be proud of;" and he handed Ruth a paper. It ran thus:

x.x.xx.x.xX+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++x.x.xx.x.xX X X X X X X THE SETON BANK. X C X X X X A $ X X $ X IN THE CITY OF ----. X P 2 X X 1 X X I , X X S 0 X _Be it known that Mrs. Ruth Hall, of ----, is X T 0 X X H 0 X ent.i.tled to one hundred shares of the Capital Stock X A 0 X X A , X of the Seton Bank, and holds the same subject to the X L 0 X X R X conditions and stipulations contained in the Articles X , X X E E X of a.s.sociation of such Inst.i.tution; which shares are X S 0 X X s A X transferable on the Books of the a.s.sociation by the X T 0 X X , C X said Mrs. Ruth Hall or her Attorney, on surrender of X O 0 X X H X this Certificate._ X C . X X X X K X X X _In witness whereof, &c., &c._ X , X X X X X x.x.xx.x.xX+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++x.x.xx.x.xX

"There," said Mr. Walter, laughing, "imagine yourself, if you can, in that dismal attic one year ago, a bank-stock holder! Now confess that you are proud of yourself."

"We are proud of her," said the talkative Nettie; "if she is not proud of herself. Don't you think it is too bad, Mr. Walter, that mamma won't let Katy and me tell that 'Floy' is our mother? A little girl who lived at the hotel that was burnt up, said to Katy, that her uncle had just given her Life Sketches for a birth-day present, and told her that she must try and write as well as 'Floy' one of these days; and Katy looked at me, and I looked at Katy; and oh, isn't it _too bad_, Mr. Walter, that mamma won't let us tell, when we want to so much?"

"Well," said Mr. Walter, laughing, "I have only one little remark to make about that, namely, I have no doubt you two young ladies discovered some time before I did, that when your mamma says _No_, there is an end to all argument."

CHAPTER XC.

The morning of the next day was bright and fair. After dinner our travelling party entered the carriage in waiting, and proceeded on their way; the children chattering as usual, like little magpies, and Ruth and Mr. Walter occupied with their own solitary reflections.

One of the greatest luxuries of _true_ friendship is the perfect freedom one feels, irrespective of the presence of another, to indulge in the mood of the moment--whether that mood be grave or gay, taciturn or loquacious, the unspeakable deliciousness of being reprieved from talking at a mark, hampered by no fear of incivility or discourtesy.

Ruth had found this a great charm in the society of Mr. Walter, who seemed perfectly to understand and sympathize with her varied moods. On the present occasion she particularly felt its value--oppressed as she was by the rush of thoughts, retrospective and antic.i.p.atory--standing as it were on the threshold of a new epoch in her changing existence.

"Where are we going, mother?" asked Katy, as the carriage pa.s.sed through a stone-gateway, and down a dim avenue of ancient trees.

"To dear papa's grave," replied Ruth, "before we leave this part of the country."

"Yes!" murmured Katy, in a low whisper.

It was very beautiful, that old avenue of pine trees, through which the setting sun was struggling faintly, now resting like a halo on some moss-grown grave-stone, now gilding some more ambitious monument of Mammon's raising. The winding cemetery paths, thronged by day with careless feet, were silent now. No lightsome laughter echoed through those leafy dells, grating upon the ear which almost listened for the loved voice. No strange eye, with curious gaze, followed the thoughtful group, speculating upon their heart's hidden history; but, now and then, a little loitering bird, tempted beyond its mate to lengthen its evening flight, flitted, with a brief gush of song, across their pathway.

Hushed, holy, and unprofaned, was this Sabbath of the dead! Aching hearts here throbbed with pain no longer; weary feet were still; busy hands lay idly crossed over tired b.r.e.a.s.t.s; babes, who had poised one tiny foot on life's turbid ocean brink, then shrank back affrighted at its surging waves, here slept their peaceful sleep.

The moon had silvered the old chapel turrets, and the little nodding flowers glistened with dew-drops, but still Ruth lingered. Old memories were thronging, thick and fast, upon her;--past joys--past sorrows--past sufferings;--and yet the heart, which felt them all so keenly, would soon lie pulseless amid these mouldering thousands. There was a vacant place left by the side of Harry. Ruth's eye rested on it--then on her children--then on Mr. Walter.

"So help me G.o.d," reverently murmured the latter, interpreting the mute appeal.

As the carriage rolled from under the old stone gateway, a little bird, startled from out its leafy nest, trilled forth a song as sweet and clear as the lark's at heaven's own blessed gate.

"Accept the omen, dear Ruth," said Mr. Walter. "Life has much of harmony yet in store for you."

THE END.