Intuitively Kate left the room, consequently we have no means of knowing
what occurred during that interview, when Dr. Lacey, as it were, received
back from the arms of death his Fanny, whose recovery from that time was
sure though slow. Mr. Middleton, in the exuberance of his joy at having
his Sunshine restored, seemed hardly sane, but frequently kept muttering
to himself, "Yes, yes, I remember--I'll do it, only give me a little time";
at the same time his elbow moved impatiently, as if nudging off some
unseen visitor. What it was that he remembered and would do, was not known
for several days and then he informed his wife that when at first he
feared that Fanny should not live, he had racked his brain to know why
this fresh evil was brought upon him, and had concluded that it was partly
to punish him for his ill-treatment of Julia when living, and partly
because that now she was dead he had neglected to purchase for her any
gravestones. "And I promised," said he, "that if she was spar'd, I'd buy
as nice a gravestun as I would if 'twas Sunshine." Three weeks from that
time there stood by the mound in the little graveyard a plain, handsome
monument, on which was simply inscribed, "Julia, aged twenty."
One after another those who had been with Fanny during her illness
departed to their homes. Frank Cameron lingered several weeks in
Frankfort. Florence, too, was there with some relatives. Now, reader, if
you value our friendship, you will not accuse him of being fickle. He had
loved Fanny long and faithfully, but he knew the time was coming when he
would see her the wife of another. What wonder was it, then, if he
suffered his eye occasionally to rest admiringly upon Florence Woodburn's
happy face, or that he frequently found himself trying to trace some
resemblance between the dark hazel of Florence's eyes and the deep blue of
Fanny's?
With woman's quick perception, Florence divined Frank's thoughts, and
although she professed herself to be "terribly afraid of his Presbyterian
smile and deaconish ways," she took good care not to discourage him. But
she teased him unmercifully, and played him many sorry tricks. He bore it
all good-humoredly, and when he started for New York he had with him a
tiny casing, from which peeped the merry face of Florence, looking as if
just meditating some fresh mischief.
And what of Florence? Why, safely stowed away at the bottom of her bureau
drawer, under a promiscuous pile of gloves, ribbons, laces and
handkerchiefs, was a big daguerreotype; but as Florence guarded that
drawer most carefully, always keeping the key in her pocket, we are unable
to say anything certain upon the subject. Up to this day we don't know
exactly whose face it was that led Florence to the drawer so many times a
day, but we are safe in saying that it looked frank enough to be Frank
himself!