The week was near the ending--so was the work,--and in their pretty parlour the two ladies wrought on as usual. The morning had been spent in explorations with Reuben Taylor and Sam Stoutenburgh, and now it was afternoon of a cool June day, with a fresh breeze scouting round to see what sweets it could pick up, and coming in at the open window to report. On the table was a delicate tinted summer muslin spread out to receive its tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, over which Faith and Miss Linden stood and debated and laughed,--then Faith went back to her low seat in the window and the hem of a pocket handkerchief. So--half looking out and half in,--the quiet street sounds murmuring with the rustle of the many elm leaves,--Faith sat, the wind playing Cupid to her Psyche; and Miss Linden stood by the table and the muslin dress.

"Faith," she said contemplatively, "What flowers do you suppose Endecott would get you to wear with this--out of a garden full?"

"It is difficult to tell"--said Faith; "he finds just what he wants, just where I shouldn't look for it." And a vision of red oak-leaves, and other ill.u.s.trations, flitted across Faith's fancy.

"Very true," said Miss Linden,--"precisely what Aunt Iredell said when she first saw you,--but I am inclined to think, that the first day you appear in this you will see him appear with a bunch of white roses--probably Lamarques; if--"

"Why Lamarques?" said Faith sewing away. "Pet, how pleasant this wind is."

Miss Linden did not immediately answer. She stood resting her finger tips on the muslin dress, looking down at it with an intentness that might have seen through thicker stuff, the colour in her cheeks deepening and deepening. "Why?" she said abstractedly,--"they're beautiful--don't you think so?--Oh Faith!"--With a joyous clasp of the hands she sprang to the window, and dropped the curtain like a screen before her. There was no time to ask questions--nor need. Faith heard the opening door, the word spoken to the waiter,--saw Mr. Linden himself come in.

Pet sprang towards him with a joyful exclamation--an unselfish one, as it seemed; for after a moment's concentrated embrace which embodied the warmth of half a dozen, she disappeared out of the room. Mr. Linden came forward, looking after her at first with surprise,--then as if a possible explanation occurred to him, he stood still by the mantelpiece, watching the door by which she had gone. Faith had waited behind her screen--she could not have told why--utterly motionless for that minute; then a little quick push sent the curtain aside, and she came to him,

"Faith!" he exclaimed--"are you hiding from me?--My dear Mignonette--"

She hid from him then,--all her face could; for her gladness was of that kind which banishes colour instead of bringing it. He let her stand so a few minutes, himself very silent and still; then one hand brought her face within reach.

"Little bird!" he said, "I have you safe now,--you need not flutter any more!"

Perhaps that thought was hardly composing, for Faith's head drooped yet, in a statue-like stillness. Not very unlike a bird on its rest however, albeit her gravity was profound. And rest--to speak it fairly--is a serious thing to anybody, when it has been in doubt or jeopardy, or long withheld. What could be done to bring the colour back, that Mr. Linden tried.

"Faith," he said, "is this all I am to have from your lips--of any sort? Where did you get such pale cheeks, precious one?--did I frighten you by coming so suddenly? You have not been ill again?"

"No,"--she said, raising her eyes for the first time to look fairly in his face. But that look brought Faith back to herself; and though she drooped her head again, it was for another reason, and her words were in a different key. "We didn't expect you for a week more."

"No--because I didn't want you to be watching the winds. Mignonette, look up!"

Which she did, frankly,--her eyes as delicious a compound of gravity and gladness as any man need wish to have bestowed upon him. "Pet brought me here,--" she said.

"Well do you suppose _I_ have brought an invoice of Dutch patience?"

"I don't think you are particularly patient,"--said Faith demurely,--"except when you choose. Oh Endy!--"

That last note had the true ring of joy. Her forehead touched his shoulder again; the rest of her sentence was unspoken.

"I do not choose, to-day. Mignonette, therefore tell me--do you think I have had all I am fairly ent.i.tled to?"

She flushed all over, but lifted up her head and kissed him. Mr. Linden watched her, smiling then though she might not see it.

"My little beauty," he said, "you have grown afraid of me--do you know that?"

"Not very--" she said. Certainly Faith was not good at defending herself.

"No, not very. Just enough to give us both something to do. Mignonette, are you ready for me?"

Faith's face was bowed again almost out of sight. "Don't you think,"

she half whispered, "that Pet must be ready to see you, by this time?"

For all answer--except a smile--she was led across the room to a seat near the window. But _just_ there, was the table and its muslin dress!

Mr. Linden stopped short, and Faith felt and understood the clasp of his arm about her waist, of his hand upon hers. But he only said laughingly, "Faith, was _that_ what made you hide away?"

"Pet hid me," Faith said very much abashed;--"not I. She let fall the curtain."

Mr. Linden let it fall again, in effect, for he quitted all troublesome subjects, and sat down by her side; not loosing his hold of her, indeed, nor taking his eyes from her, but in the gravity of his own deep happiness there was not much to disturb her quiet.

"I sent you a telegraphic despatch this morning to Pattaqua.s.set, dear Faith,--I did not mean to take you quite by surprise. And my stopping anywhere short of that was merely because the arrangement of trains forced me to lose an hour here on the way. I thought it lost."

"It hasn't proved so."

"There was such a doubt of my being in time for this steamer, that I would not even speak of it. Faith, I have not often heard such music as the swash of the water about her paddle-wheels as we set off."

"Didn't you hear the swash of her paddle-wheels as you came in?" said Faith merrily.

"No!" The wistful gladness of her eye was a pretty commentary.

"Is Miss Reason in full activity yet?" said Mr. Linden smiling,--_his_ comment.

"She has had no interruption, you know, for a great while."

"Take care of her, Faith,--she has a great deal of work before her."

The look that answered this was a little conscious, but shewed no fear.

There was nothing very unreasonable in the face that bent over hers; the eyes with their deep look, lit up now and then with flashes of different feelings; the mouth wearing its sweet changeable expression.

A little browner than usual, from the voyage,--a little thinner, perhaps, with hard work; Mr. Linden still looked remarkably well and like himself; though Faith felt that nameless change--that mingling of real and unreal, of friend and stranger, which a long absence always brings. One minute he was himself, as he had been in Pattaqua.s.set,--giving her lessons, riding with her, reading to her, going off to school with one of Mrs. Stoutenburgh's white roses. The next--he was a gentleman just arrived from Europe!--from whom she could not get away. Perhaps the last impression was the most remarkable. But in spite of this, Faith was herself, every inch of her; with the exception of that one little difference which Mr. Linden had pointed out and which was not to be denied.

Some time had pa.s.sed, when Faith felt Pet's little hand come round her neck--the other was round Mr. Linden. Faith's start was instant; springing up she went to the window where behind the curtain lay the work her hand had dropped. Faith gathered it up. She would have put that muslin dress out of the way then!--but there it lay in plain sight and close neighbourhood. Yet somebody must do it, and it was her business; and with cheeks of a very pretty deep rose that set off her white drapery, Faith applied herself to the due folding of the troublesome muslin. In two minutes Pet came to help her, but in a different mood, though her eyelashes were glittering.

"Endy, come here and look at this--I think it is so pretty. What flowers must Faith wear with it?"

"Carnations look very well."

"I said white roses."--

"Which will you wear, Mignonette?" said Mr. Linden.

He was favoured with a glance from two gentle eyes, which it was worth a little wickedness to get. It was only a flash. "I think Pet is right,"--she answered with great gravity.

He came close to her side, the low-spoken "you shall have them--"

touched more things than one.

"What do you suppose I found her doing?" said Pet, folding down a sleeve.

"Pet!"--said Faith. "Don't touch that! Not to-night."

"Do you wish me to leave it unfolded?--the servants will perhaps sweep in the morning."

"Pet," said Faith softly,--"don't _you_ raise a dust! We might not lay it so soon."

"Endy," said his sister, "how do you do?--you haven't told me."