“Your mamma has been pining for her child, Myra, and I am here to take you home again.”
“But you hate him—you—you—” The poor girl broke off with a shudder.
“No, I will like him for your sake, love!” was the kind reply.
Myra closed her eyes, and tears broke through the dark lashes.
The old man now smiled, as he saw the tremulous joy his words had brought to that pale face.
“We will have the wedding at D. Place, and when you go away again, Myra, it must not be without a blessing.”
“Oh, papa, I am so happy,” whispered the poor girl, drawing a deep breath. She did not unclose her eyes again, but a sweet placidity stole over her face, and she fell into a calm sleep, the first that had visited her eyelids in many a long day and night.
Never had D. Place looked more beautiful than it appeared on the day when Myra returned to it, with her happy father. The fine old building, with all its surrounding trees, was bathed in a flood of sunshine, that hung over the whole landscape like the mist of a bridal vail. The servants were all out to receive their young mistress as she alighted from the carriage; even the hunting dogs came whining and yelping from their kennels, riotous with joy, as so many politicians the day after an election. Myra had smiles for all; but as her eyes fell upon the gentle mother, who had loved her so devotedly, the young girl broke away, her cheeks glowing, her eyes full of tears, and threw herself into the arms that were joyously opened to receive her.
“Oh, mamma, I never expected to be so happy again!” she cried, shaking back her curls, and gazing upon the face of her mother with a look of thrilling affection. “But you are pale, mamma!”
“No, not now; but I am very, very happy, Myra.”