“Then that is why he missed you. I am sorry. He left a little note for you in case he should not see you. Wait, my lamb,” for Agnes had turned and was holding out her hand eagerly. “He came to make his farewells; he is on his way to Marietta. He is called home by the illness of his mother.”
Agnes turned deathly pale, and whispered, “The note, the note, mother.”
Mrs. Kennedy took it from the bosom of her gown, and handed it to the girl who received it with shaking fingers. Her mother arose from the fallen log on which they were sitting and moved away for a short distance, while Agnes read:—
“I am sorry to miss you, little girl, but perhaps, after all, it is best. May you be happy in the love of that good youth, Archie. I am leaving some books which I hope you will enjoy reading. Good-by, and God bless you.
“Your friend,
“Parker Willett.”
Over and over again Agnes read the note till the words seemed burnt into her brain. It meant more than an ordinary farewell. He would never understand now, and he was going back to Virginia and to Alicia. She gasped at the thought of all that the parting meant, and for a moment felt that no force could keep her from seeking to overtake him. She ran back to her mother. “When did he go? When? How long?”
“It was an hour after you left. Oh, my child, do not look so! He will come back.”
“Too late, too late,” moaned Agnes.
“Why do you say that? He will return as soon as his mother ceases to need him. She is very ill, and there is no hope of her recovery. She calls for him, and he will go to remain with her while she lives, be it a long or a short time. It should not be such a grievous thing to you, dear heart, when he will return.”