“You remembered me, then, sometimes in the little cottage in Grotewell?” asked he, after a silent contemplation of her countenance. “I was not forgotten when you left the city streets?”
She answered with a bright little shake of her head, but she was inwardly wondering as she looked at his strong and picturesque face, with its nobly carved features and melancholy smile, if he had been absent from her thoughts for so much as a moment, in all these dreary months of separation.
“I did not believe you would forget,” he gently pursued, “but I scarcely dared hope you would lighten my fireside with your face again. It is such a dismal one, and youth is so linked to brightness.”
The flush that crossed her cheek, startled him into sudden silence. She recovered herself and slowly shook her head. “It is not a dismal one to me. I always feel brighter and better when I sit beside it. I have missed your counsel,” she said; “brightness is nothing without depth.”
His eyes which had been fixed on her face, turned slowly away. He seemed to hold an instant’s communion with himself; suddenly he said, “And depth is worse than nothing, without it mirrors the skies. It is not from shadowed pools, such bright young lips should drink, but from the waves of an inexhaustible sea, smote upon by all the winds and sunshine of heaven.”
In another moment, however, he was all cheerfulness. “You have brought me a Christmas present,” cried he, “and we must make it a Christmas holiday indeed. Here is the beginning:” and with one of his old grave smiles, he handed Bertram a little note which had been awaiting him on the library table. “But Paula and Miss Belinda must have their pleasure too. Paula, are you too tired for a ride downtown? I will show you New York on a Christmas eve,” continued he to Miss Walton, seeing that Paula’s attention was absorbed by the expression of sudden and