Her letters too are
running over with affection;--what though she mentions the frequent
visits of Dalton, and tells stories of his kindness and attachment? You
feel safe in her strength; and yet--yet there is a brooding terror, that
rises out of your knowledge of Dalton's character.
And can you tell her this; can you stab her fondness, now that you are
away, with even a hint of what would crush her delicate nature?
What you know to be love, and what you fancy to be duty, struggle long;
but love conquers. And with sweet trust in her, and double trust in God,
you await your return. That return will be speedier than you think.
You receive one day a letter: it is addressed in the hand of a friend,
who is often at the cottage, but who has rarely written to you. What can
have tempted him now? Has any harm come near your home? No wonder your
hands tremble at the opening of that sheet; no wonder that your eyes run
like lightning over the hurried lines. Yet there is little in them, very
little. The hand is stout and fair. It is a calm letter, a friendly
letter; but it is short, terribly short. It bids you come home--"_at
once!_"
----And you go. It is a pleasant country you have to travel through;
but you see very little of the country.
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