Two months had passed
before he was able to leave his bed. He remembered only the glow
of an Indian summer morning on wood and field, but when he rose
they were all white with snow. For weeks he had listened to the
howl of the fir trees and had seen the frost gathering on his
window, but knew not how swiftly the days had gone, so that when he
looked out of doors and saw the midwinter he was filled with
astonishment.
"I must go," said he.
"Not yet, my boy," said Mary Allen. "You, are not strong enough."
"Darrel has taken my trouble on him, and I must go."
"I have heard you say it often since you fell on the doorstep,"
said she, stroking his hand. "There is a letter from him;" and she
brought the letter and put it in his hands. Trove opened it
eagerly and read as follows:--
"DEAR SIDNEY: It is Sunday night and all day I have been walking in
the Blessed Isles. And one was the Blessed Isle of remembrance
where I met thee and we talked of all good things. If I knew it
were well with thee I should be quite happy, boy, quite happy. I
was a bit weary of travel and all the roads had grown long. I miss
the tick of the clocks, but my work is easy and I have excellent
good friends.
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