CHAPTER XI.
HOME AT LAST.
My father's house once more,
In its own moonlight beauty! yet around
Something amidst the dewy calm profound
Broods, never marked before.
* * * *
My soul grows faint with fear,
Even as if angel steps had mark'd the sod;
I tremble when I move—the voice of God
Is in the foliage here.
Hubert was not much refreshed when the morrow came; the weather had changed during the night, and the rain fell heavily, and his wounded leg was so painful that he determined upon not proceeding on his journey, but requested permission to walk in the well-kept secluded garden at the back of the house, if the rain cleared off.
It was a dreary morning, but about noon the sun shone out, and Hubert, leaning upon his staff, bent his steps to the snug little summer-house in the garden. It was a quiet spot, and Hubert was glad to be there alone. The storm was over, the few remaining autumn flowers were fading, and the leaves were falling thickly from the trees, and Hubert, as he looked upon the scene around him, drew a deep sigh, and taking from his pocket his "torn Bible," began to read.
Absorbed in what he was doing, he did not see a little boy approach the summer-house, and it was not until a small spade fell accidentally from the child's hand that he noticed him.
"Ah! do you live here?" inquired Hubert