CHAPTER XXVI.
LAKESIDE.
|
"Look! are the southern curtains drawn? Fetch me a fan, and so begone! · · · · · · Rain me sweet odors on the air, And wheel me up my Indian chair; And spread some book not overwise Flat out before my sleepy eyes." O. W. Holmes. |
The Rushleighs' breakfast room at Lakeside was very lovely in a summer's morning.
Looking off, northwestwardly, across the head of the Pond, the long windows, opening down to the piazza, let in all the light and joy of the early day, and that indescribable freshness born from the union of woods and water.
Faith had come down long before the others, this fair Wednesday morning.
Mr. Rushleigh found her, when he entered, sitting by a window—a book upon her lap, to be sure—but her eyes away off over the lake, and a look in them that told of thoughts horizoned yet more distantly.
Last night, he had brought home Paul's first letter.
When he gave it to her, at tea time, with a gay and kindly word, the color that deepened vividly upon her face, and the quiet way in which she laid it down beside her plate, were nothing strange, perhaps; but—was he wrong? the eyes that drooped so quickly as the blushes rose, and then lifted themselves again so timidly to him as he next addressed her, were surely brimmed with feeling that was not quite, or wholly glad.
And now, this wistful, silent, musing, far-off look!