Good-by! The steamer, with its living freight, dashed oceanward; and Waltermyer, accompanied by his tried companion La Moine, hastened again to the broad prairies and the rocky cañons of the Nevadas.
A year passed rapidly to the voyagers, in, to them, strange lands. Their eyes rested on the castellated towers of “merrie England”—their feet wandered among the crags, and they listened to the merry songs of Switzerland—they roamed amid the vineyards of France—and grew sad among the ruins of imperial Rome. Then, with hearts and minds filled with the beauties of past ages, came the thought of their native land. Home—peerless to the long absent! Home—the sweetest thought and the dearest word of earth.
The ocean was recrossed. The lithe spars had bent to the snowy canvas, the rainbow flag floated from the fore, and through the placid waters the swift-winged keel glided, as if all the good spirits of ocean had gently pressed it on with watery fingers.
The mansion of Claude La Clide had been refitted more sumptuously than ever. The grounds had grown more luxuriant—shrub and tree were laden with June blossoms, and the bright air heavy with perfume. Many a curiously fastened box had arrived, for La Clide and his wife, both lovers of the beautiful, had purchased lavishly in their wanderings, and expectation was on the qui vive, in the neighborhood, to learn what all the signs of preparation could mean.
A wandering group of girls had paused at the gate before the long-deserted mansion, during an early evening walk, and stood looking up the tree and flower shaded and walled avenue, commenting upon the beautiful scene. One young girl of the group, at least, looked upon the stately dwelling with bitter—bitter feelings. She was thinking of the time when she had a right to come and go within that mansion, almost as its mistress. In the foolish pride and evil passions of her reckless youth, she had crushed the flowers of a manly love into the dust, and so lost every thing. Oh, how bitter—what wormwood and gall, in such an hour like that, were the simple words, “It might have been.”
“Miss Worthington—Ellen,” said a gentleman, as he joined the group, “have you heard the news?”
“I? Assuredly not, if it is news.”
“Well, I am glad to be the first to tell it you.”
“Is it so very interesting?”
“To you I should think it would be.”