Now attached to the key was a little card, on which was written simply the word, "Trousseau."

Faith understood the word well enough, and it seemed to turn her into a pretty petrifaction--with internal life at work indeed, as the rising and falling colours witnessed. She stood with bended head looking at the mysterious key; then making a swift transit to the window she opened it and threw back the blinds and stood looking out, the key in one hand giving little impatient or abstracted taps against the fingers of the other. It was a pretty landscape certainly, but Faith had looked at it often before.

Miss Linden on her part followed Faith to the window with her eyes and a smile, then sat looking at the great leathern trunk in its travelling cover, which it wore still. Once she made a motion to take this off--then laid her hands back in their former position and waited for Faith to come.

"Pet," said Faith presently,--"have you looked out of the window this morning?" Which question brought two hands round her shoulders in no time.

"Yes my dear, I have. What new beauties have you discovered?"

"It looks pretty in the spring light.--But I wasn't thinking of it, either," said Faith blushing. And without raising her eyes, looking distressed, she softly insinuated the key with its talismanic card back into Miss Linden's hand.

"Well? what, dear Faith?"

"I don't know,"--said Faith softly. "You know."

"I know,"--said Miss Linden, "that Endecott locked the trunk and tied the label to the key, and it is a great mistake to suppose that I will unlock the one or take charge of the other. In the second place, I need not even look on unless you wish. It can go to another room, or I will leave you in undisturbed possession of this. So speak," she said, kissing her.

Faith did not immediately. She wound her arms round her new sister and hid her face in Miss Linden's neck, and stood so clasping her silently for a few minutes. But when she raised her head she went straight to the "trousseau" trunk; pulled off, business fashion, the travelling cover; set the key in the lock, and lifted the lid.

"I should tell you, dear," said Miss Linden while this was doing--she had seated herself a little way off from Faith and the trunk, "I should tell you, that if it had been possible to get a pattern dress and so forth, you would have found nothing here to do _but_ look. As it is, there is some work for your fingers, and I hope for mine." The lid was now open, and between the two next protecting covers lay a letter. A recognizing flash of eye greeted that; Faith put it out of sight and lifted the second cover. From where she sat Miss Linden could see her hand tremble.

There were two or three characteristics that applied to the whole arrangement, choice, and filling of the "trousseau." The absence of things useless was not more notable than the abundance of things useful; and let not useful be understood to mean needful,--for of the little extras which are so specially pleasant to those who never buy them for themselves, there was also a full supply. The daintiness of everything was great, but nothing was out of Faith's line: the stuffs might be finer than she had always worn, but the colours were what she had always liked, and in any one of those many dresses she might feel at home in five minutes--they suited her so well. She could see, well enough, that Mr. Linden not only remembered "her style" but loved it,--in the very top rack, that was first laid open, she had proof of this--for besides the finest of lawn and cambric, there were dainty bands of embroidery and pieces of lace with which Faith could ruffle herself to her heart's content.

At this point Faith drew a rather quick breath. She was on her knees before the trunk, and shielding her face a little from Miss Linden, she sat looking in--steadfastly at bits of French needlework and lappings of the daintier texture, lifting now and then, also daintily--the end or fold of something to see what lay underneath. There was so much food for meditation, as well as for industry, in this department, that Faith seemed not likely to get through it. How clearly she saw any one thing might be doubted. She made no progress.

"You may see Endecott in everything, Faith," said Miss Linden. "In the matter of quant.i.ty I could sometimes give him help, but every colour and style had to be matched with the particular pattern in his mind. I wish you could have seen it!--it was one of the prettiest things I ever saw. Those three days in Paris!--I told you they were pretty days."

Faith gave her a swift look, very flushed and very grave. A pretty picture of wonder and humility she was; and something more was borne witness to by those soft eyes, but Miss Linden had only a second's look of them.

The racks seemed to hold the light varieties, each done up by itself.

There was the little French parasol in its box; the fan box, with most pretty contents. There was the glove box, beautifully filled, and holding among the rest the prettiest of riding gauntlets--all of just the right size, by some means. At the other end to keep this in countenance, was a little French riding hat in its own pasteboard container. The riding whip Mr. Linden had given her long before. There were stockings in pretty variety; and handkerchiefs--not laced and embroidered, but of fine material and dainty borders. The various minor things were too many to mention.

Faith was in an overwhelmed state, though she hardly shewed that. Her fingers made acquaintance almost fearfully with the various items that lay in sight; finally she laid both hands upon the edge of the rack.

"It is exactly like him!--" she said in profound gravity. His sister laughed--a gay, pleased little laugh.

"_He_ said they were all like you, Faith. His fear of touching your individuality was comical. Do you know he says he shall expect you always to have a brown merino?--so you will find one there."

But first, at the bottom of the rack, under all the others, was the flat mantilla box; and its contents of muslin and silk, in their elegant simpleness, left Miss Bezac's "nowhere". How Faith would have liked to shut up the trunk then and run away--n.o.body knew! For she only quietly lifted out the rack and took the view of what came next. It was not the brown merino!--it was something made up,--the gayest, prettiest, jauntiest dressing gown; with bunches of tiny carnations all over it, as bright as Faith's own. Though that be saying much, for at this hers reached their acme.

"How beautiful--" she said gravely, while her poor fluttering thoughts were saying everything else. "How perfectly beautiful!--"

And as delicately as if it had been made of silver tissue, Faith laid it off on the rack. Laid it off to find the next stagc in the shape of morning wrappers, also made up. "They fit so loosely at best--" Miss Linden explained,--"and Endecott knew your height."

Now neither in these nor in what lay beneath was there such profusion as would furnish a new dress every day (for an indefinite number) at a watering place; but there was just such as befitted a young lady, who being married in summer-days yet looked forward to winter, and was to be the delight of somebody's eyes summer and winter.

They were downcast and wonderfully soft eyes that looked at those morning dresses now,--as Miss Linden could see when by chance they were lifted. But that was not generally; with lowered eyelids and unsteady lips Faith went on taking out one after the other. Below, the packages were more solid and compact, some close at both ends, others shewing shawl fringes. Dress after dress lay in close order--muslin and silk and stuff; under them pieces of linen and flannel such as Pattaqua.s.set could hardly have furnished. One particular parcel, long and soft, was tied with white ribband. Faith looked at it doubtfully.

"Must I open this, Pet?"

"It is tied up for that express purpose."

A little suspicious of each new thing, Faith pulled the easy knot of white ribband and uncovered what lay within. It was a white embroidered muslin, fine and beautiful in its clear texture, as was the wrought tracery upon it. No colour relieved this white field,--a pair of snowy gloves lay upon it, with the lace and sash for its finish of adornment; with them a folded handkerchief, plain like the rest but particularly fine. Separately wrapped up in soft paper that but half hid them, were the little rosetted slippers.

"He said you must have none but real flowers," Miss Linden said--too softly to call for a look in answer.

That dress was what not even Miss Bezac had been able to make Faith look at in imagination--and there it lay before her! Perhaps, to tell the truth, she had been hardly willing to realize to herself the future necessity of such a thing. The blood came deeper to her cheeks, then left them in another moment pale. Faith laid her face in her hands on the edge of the trunk,--for once overcome. Again Miss Linden's quick impulse was to come to Faith's side, and again she checked herself; thinking perhaps that she was too new a friend to have her words pleasant just then--feeling that there was but one person who _could_ say what ought to be said. So she sat quite still, nor even turned her eyes towards Faith except now and then in a quick glance of sympathy and interest; both which were shewn in her folded hands and averted head. But very soon Faith was softly doing the parcel up again in its white ribbands; and then she began to lay the things back in the trunk, with quick hands but dainty. Half way through, Faith suddenly stopped.

"Shall I put these back here for the present?"--she said, looking towards Miss Linden.

"For the present, dear?--I am not sure that I understand."

"Just now--till I can arrange some other place to put them."

"I have nothing to do with 'this place'," said Miss Linden smiling,--"it came with my trunks, that is all."

Faith coloured again and went on with what she was doing. Miss Linden watched her.

"Faith," she said, "don't finish that work just now,--sit still there and read Endy's letter--won't you, darling? I am going down to pay your mother a visit." And with a kiss and embrace she was gone.

Faith's hands stopped their work as the door closed, and she sat still, looking at the voiceless messages of love, care, thought, and antic.i.p.ation, which surrounded her. Looking dreamily, and a little oppressed; and when she moved her hand it was not first to get her letter, but to draw out the locket from her bosom and see Mr. Linden's face; as if she wanted his look to authenticate all these messages, or to meet her own heart's answer. At any rate it was not till after a good study of the little picture that Faith put it away and took out her letter.

It was not _just_ like having him there to talk or caress away her discomfort--and yet it was like it, though the pages were well on their way before the trousseau was even alluded to. But the words, the atmosphere of the letter made Faith breathe easier,--it was like the wand of the Fairy Order, smoothing out the little tangled skeins of silk. And when that subject came up, it was touched so lightly, so delicately, yet with such evident pleasure,--there was such mingling of play and earnest in the charge given her to be ready before he came, and such a strong wish that he could have saved her all the work,--the terror of the trousseau could not stand before it. And at the hope that her taste would be suited, Faith's heart made a spring the other way.

She drank in every word of the letter; and then feeling healed, though tender-spirited yet, she finished putting away her riches and went down stairs.

Mrs. Derrick having gone off to attend to dinner preparations, Miss Linden sat alone, singing to herself softly in company with the March wind and the fire, and (of all things!) at work upon one of Miss Bezac's mantillas. Faith's two hands were laid upon the one which held the needle. "Not to-day--" said the silver voice which Miss Linden must learn to know.

"Yes--unless you'll give me somewhat else to do!" she said leaning her sunshiny head back against Faith. "I was out of patience with myself because I could not do what no one but Endecott could--so in my woman's pride I took up something which he couldn't. What are _you_ going to do, darling?"

Faith thought she knew why she was called "Pet"--but she only kissed her. "I shall have to ask you a great deal about those things up stairs," she said;--"but to-day I want to see you What would you like?"

The thing Miss Linden liked best, was to see some of her brother's old haunts; and a notable drive the two had that afternoon. Wherein, under the light of a Spring day, Miss Linden saw Pattaqua.s.set, the Quapaw people, (part of them) and not least of all, Faith herself, who shewed herself very much as the Spring day. And of Mr. Linden his sister talked the while, to her heart's content, and Faith's--in the full joy of that affection which can never say enough, speaking to that which can never hear too much.

It would be long to tell how the trousseau was made up. Mrs. Iredell came from Pequot and established herself in a farmhouse at Pattaqua.s.set; and the two future sisters put their heads and their hands--a good deal of their hearts too--into the work that was done in Faith's blue-wainscotted white room. There they sat and sewed, day after day; while the days grew warm, and the apple blossoms burst, and the robins whistled. They whistled of Mr. Linden's coming home, to Faith, and sent her needle with a quicker impulse. She never spoke of it.

But Miss Linden knew whither the look went, that seemed to go no further than the apple trees; and what was the pressure that made a quick breath now and then and a hurried finger. Perhaps her own pulses began to move with accelerated beat. And when towards the end of May Mrs. Iredell found business occasion for being in Quilipeak a fortnight, Pet so urged upon Mrs. Derrick the advantages of the scheme, that she carried off Faith with her. It would break the waiting and watching, and act as a diversion, she said,--and Faith did not contradict her.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

Established fairly in that great Quilipeak hotel, Faith found her way of life very pleasant. Mrs. Iredell was much in her own room, coming out now and then for a while to watch the two young things at their work. A pretty sight!--for some of _the_ work had been brought along,--fast getting finished now, under the witching of "sweet counsel." Miss Linden declared that for her part she was sorry it was so near done,--what Faith thought about it she did not say.

Meantime, June was using her rosy wings day by day, and in another week Mr. Linden might be looked for. Just what steamer he would take was a.

little uncertain, but from that time two people at least would begin to hope, and a day or two before that time they were to go back to Pattaqua.s.set.