The time drew near; the day was settled on which the "Seagull"
was to set sail, and yet Hugh Fernely had won no promise from
Beatrice Earle.
One morning Hugh met her at the stile leading from the field into
the meadow lane--the prettiest spot in Knutsford. The ground
was a perfectly beautiful carpet of flowers--wild hyacinths,
purple foxgloves, pretty, pale strawberry blossoms all grew
there. The hedges were one mass of wild roses and woodbine; the
tall elm trees that ran along the lane met shadily overhead; the
banks on either side were radiant in different colored mosses;
huge ferns surrounded the roots of the trees.
Beatrice liked the quiet, pretty, green meadow lane. She often
walked there, and on this eventful morning Hugh saw her sitting
in the midst of the fern leaves. He was by her side in a minute,
and his dark, handsome face lighted up with joy.
"How the sun shines!" he said. "I wonder the birds begin to sing
and the flowers to bloom before you are out, Miss Earle."
"But I am not their sun," replied Beatrice with a smile.
"But you are mine," cried Hugh; and before she could reply he was
kneeling at her feet, her hands clasped in his, while he told her
of the love that was wearing his life away.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221