He bowed politely, and walked away, while Mrs. Meredith almost trod on
air as she climbed the three flights of stairs and sought her niece's
chamber. Over the interview which ensued that night we pass silently,
and come to the next morning, when Anna sat alone on the piazza at the
rear of the hotel, watching the playful gambols of some children on
the grass, and wondering if she ever could conscientiously say "yes"
to Thornton Hastings' suit. He was coming toward her now, lifting his
hat politely, and asking what she would give for news from home.
"I found this on my table," he said, holding up a dainty little
missive, on the corner of which was written "In haste," as if its
contents were of the utmost importance. "The boy must have made a
mistake, or else he thought it well enough to begin at once bringing
your letters to me," he continued, with a smile, as he handed Anna the
letter from Lucy Harcourt. "I have one too, from Arthur which I will
read while you are devouring yours, and then, perhaps, you will take a
little ride. The September air is very bracing this morning," he said,
walking away to the far end of the piazza, while Anna broke the seal
of the envelope, hesitating a moment ere taking the letter from it,
and trembling as if she guessed what it might contain.
There was a quivering of the eyelids, a paling of the lips as she
glanced at the first few lines, then with a low, moaning cry, "No, no,
oh, no, not that," she fell upon her face.
To lift her in his arms and carry her to her room was the work of an
instant, and then, leaving her to Mrs. Meredith's care, Thornton
Hastings went back to finish Arthur's letter, which might or might not
throw light upon the fainting fit.
"Dear Thornton," Arthur wrote, "you will be surprised, no doubt, to
hear that your old college chum is at last engaged--positively
engaged--but not to one of the fifty lambs about whom you once
jocosely wrote. The shepherd has wandered from his flock, and is about
to take into his bosom a little, stray ewe-lamb--Lucy Harcourt by
name--"
"The deuce he is," was Thornton's ejaculation, and then he read on.
"She is an acquaintance of yours, I believe, so I need not describe
her, except to say that she is somewhat changed from the gay butterfly
of fashion she used to be, and in time will make as demure a little
Quakeress as one could wish to see. She visits constantly among my
poor, who love her almost as well as they once loved Anna Ruthven.
"Don't ask me, Thorne, in your blunt, straightforward manner if I
have so soon forgotten Anna. That is a matter with which you've
nothing to do. Let it suffice that I am engaged to another, and mean
to make a kind and faithful husband to her. Lucy would have suited you
better, perhaps, than she does me; that is, the world would think so,
but the world does not always know, and if I am satisfied, surely it
ought to be. Yours truly,
"A. LEIGHTON."