"I've found them so, myself," he replied, simply; "if it were only in enabling me to sympathize more with the troubles of others."
Nora amply fulfilled her promise of showing Roland everything that she thought would interest him about Rockland. He went, with much interest, over Mr. Foster's well-managed establishment, saw with pleasure its well-ventilated work-rooms, its well-stocked reading-rooms, the neat cottages of the employés, each with its little garden, and all the arrangements by which economy and convenience were combined. He had some long talks with the public-spirited proprietor, and found that that gentleman fully agreed with him, in all his ideas about hours, remuneration, etc., and put them in practice as far as it was possible to do under the present system.
"But, of course," he said, "there must be either concerted or legislative action, before they can be fully carried out."
Then there were pleasant country expeditions with Miss Blanchard and Cecilia; walks and drives, or rides, and some delightful rows on the beautiful little lake, exploring its rocky shores and picturesque woodland nooks. And in these happy loiterings, the dreamy and poetical side of Roland's nature came out more prominently than Nora had ever seen it, kept down, as it had been, by his philanthropic cares. He was full of little poetical fancies, and many a favorite quotation rose readily to his lips, as they slowly rowed or walked home in the sunset light. Nor did he enjoy less their musical evenings, when Nora sang to him the songs he asked for, and little Cecilia was delighted to exhibit her own attainments, which were certainly very remarkable, considering her age, and the short period of training she had enjoyed.
The days passed all too swiftly for Roland; perhaps for Nora, too. They stood out through the hot busy weeks that followed, like Arcadian days, or rather like an interlude of inexpressible happiness, or flowing streams in a thirsty land. Such similes, at least, Roland's fancy easily found for them in abundance.
One evening, shortly before the too early close of Roland's visit, Mrs. Blanchard arrived with the children, for a lengthened stay. She was expected, but she brought with her an unexpected visitor—Mr. Chillingworth. Both Roland and Nora felt as if the unalloyed pleasure of the preceding days was somewhat shadowed now, but they were sincerely sorry for the pale and altered man. Cecilia, too, shrank shyly away from his awkward efforts to be affectionate to her.
"Mr. Graeme," said Mrs. Blanchard, "my husband wants you to take Mr. Chillingworth in hand, while you're here—to take him out to walk or fish, or anything you can get him to do. He's sunk into such a state of nervous depression, the doctor's quite afraid for him."
And Roland did his best, though at the cost of some self-sacrifice, for this, of course, put an end to the pleasant wanderings with Nora.
The evening before Roland was obliged regretfully to take his departure for Minton, as they all sat enjoying the pleasant summer twilight without—just passing into a glorious moonlight, Mr. Chillingworth was asked to give them a poetical reading, and, at Nora's request, made choice of Lowell's "Vision of Sir Launfal." He read it with heartfelt expression, especially in the stanzas that described the experiences of the returned and awakened Sir Launfal:
"Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate,
For another heir in his earldom sate;