"Fetters and warder for the Graeme!"
Scott. Lady of the Lake.
The two months that followed passed very quickly for Nora, more quickly than they did for Roland, in the hot, dusty town. She had her visitors from Minton,—Mr. Alden, who, came down, an ever-welcome guest, for a fortnight's rest, and told her of Roland's unwearied labors and his growing influence in Minton; and Miss Spencer, who came for a few days of refreshing change from her hospital wards. Lizzie Mason and her family were now settled in the cottage that Nora had secured for them. And Lizzie was intensely happy in the possession of a tiny flower-garden; though it was only too evident that she was in a settled decline, and would not, probably, see another summer. But, though quite aware of this, she was full of a serene peace that often recalled to Nora the "Story of Ida," which she had lent to Lizzie, in the days of their first acquaintance, and which had not been without results in a nature so fitted to receive its teaching.
One warm evening, late in August, Nora was slowly returning from a visit to Lizzie, when she heard a rapid step behind her, and, looking back, saw to her surprise, the very person she was at that moment thinking about—Roland Graeme.
"Why," she exclaimed, with astonishment, "I had no idea you were so near!"
"I only came down by this evening's train," he said, in a grave tone, as he shook hands, looking earnestly at her with an expression that brought the color to her cheek; "and I was just coming to report myself. There were some things I wanted to be the first to tell you."
They walked on, very slowly, up the drive, and turned aside to the seats under the beech-tree, Roland saying little till then. Both, indeed, seemed to have very little to say.
"I suppose," he began, "you have heard of Mr. Dunlop's sudden death."
"Yes,—Will wrote to us about it," she replied. "I knew it would be a great sorrow to you. You would miss him so much."
"I do,—more than I could have believed," he said, warmly. "He was so honest, so true, so practical, so kind-hearted, under all the seeming roughness. He has been the kindest of friends to me."
And he was silent for a little. Nora was silent, too. The whippoorwill in a neighboring thicket, indefatigably piping away at his interminable refrain, had it all to himself for awhile.