Accordingly, as soon as the physician pronounced it safe to move her, she
was taken home, and by her mother's assiduous care, and Aunt Katy's
skilful nursing, her physical health was soon much improved. But no
medicine could reach the plague spot which preyed upon her heart and cast
a dark shadow over every feeling of pleasure. As soon as her health was
fully restored, she asked permission to return to school. At first Mr.
Middleton refused, but not long did he ever withstand any request which
"Sunshine" made. So at last he consented, on condition that she would give
up the study of Latin, and promise not to apply herself too closely to
anything. To this Fanny readily agreed, and in a few days she was in
Frankfort, occupying her accustomed seat at Mrs. Crane's and bending over
her task in the old schoolroom, which seemed suddenly illuminated by her
presence.
The schoolgirls welcomed back their young companion with many
demonstrations of joy, for they said, "the schoolroom seemed dark and
lonely when she was absent." Dear little Fanny! There was love enough left
for her in the hearts of all who knew her, but it did not satisfy. There
was still an aching void, which one love alone could fill, and that love
she thought was lost to her forever. She was mistaken.
During her illness she thought much of what Julia had said relative to
concealing her disappointment with an assumed gayety, and she resolved to
do so, partly from wounded pride, and partly from love of her dear old
father, who seemed distressed whenever anything troubled his "Sunshine."
When she returned to Frankfort none but the most acute observer would have
suspected that the sparkling eye and dancing footstep were the disguise of
a desolate, aching heart and that the merry laugh and witty repartee were
but the echoes of a knell of sadness, whose deepest tones were stifled ere
they reached the ear of the listener. In the darkness of night however,
all was changed. The Sunshine was obscured, and Julia alone knew what
anguish Fanny endured. Still the cruel girl never wavered in her purpose.
"The worst is over," said she. "She will not die now, even if she saw him
wedded to me." So she suffered her sister's cheek to grow paler, and her
delicate form thinner, at the supposed desertion of her lover. Little did
Fanny think that he, whose false-heartedness she deplored, dreamed each
night of his distant dear one, and that each day his warm heart beat more
quickly, because no tidings came from her.