In this way that strange, heroic girl came back to her old home, which was brighter and more cheerful after she resumed her place, not as a servant, but as a tried friend of the family, which she retained till her marriage with James.
A fortnight after Lottie's return, Mr. Lee came home. He sent us a letter from New York, saying that he had landed there, and desiring that the cause and events connected with his absence might never be mentioned among us after his return. Everything was understood and explained; all that he asked now was a perfect reunion.
One night about dusk, Mr. Lee came home very quietly and quite unannounced. He was calm, cheerful, and his own noble self again, and his absence seemed almost like a dream to us.
That night, before he retired, I saw him going toward the library with his arm around Jessie's waist. When they came out again, I could see that Jessie had been crying; but she looked happy notwithstanding these traces of tears, and when she bade her father good-night, he left a blessing upon her forehead.
In the solitude of that half-hour, the proud man had asked forgiveness of his own child, and she came forth with a heart almost broken with tenderness for him.
After this his love for Jessie became a part of his life; he fairly worshipped her. But his manner to me changed. He was kind, gentle, generous; but all this was accompanied with a sort of reserve almost amounting to shyness. Had I indeed offended him beyond forgiveness? How often I asked myself this question, and each time my heart sunk into deeper depression; for who could answer it? Let who would be happy, it seemed that I was always to suffer. Indeed, it required some little magnanimity not to feel the difference between the lonely, unloved existence reserved for me, and Jessie's brilliant lot.
A few months after Mr. Lee's return, wedding preparations were making cheerful progress in our house. Jessie would leave us on a bridal tour, and then come back to the old mansion behind the hill, which the two Mrs. Bosworths had vacated for a pretty cottage on the grounds, and refurnished sumptuously for the young people. Everybody was pleased—everybody was happy, except myself. What could become of me? When Jessie was gone, my home would be broken up again. I must be cast forth a waif upon the world. How could I help being sad?
Just a week before Jessie's wedding, I sat alone in the deep window of the drawing-room, thinking of my desolated future, and weeping those still tears that one learns to shed after much sorrow. It was sunset. Young Bosworth and Jessie were in the garden, and I could hear their happy voices coming up from among the flowers.
As I sat there, so dreary and loveless, some person entered the room. I knew by the tread that it was Mr. Lee, and tried to conceal myself; but he came directly to the window and stood at my side, looking out upon the glorious view. In those times I was timid, and almost afraid of his presence; so, rising quietly, I attempted to leave the window. But he begged me to remain. There was something that he wished to say.
I sat down, trembling with dread. Was he about to tell me, what I knew already, that Jessie's marriage would render my stay at the Ridge impossible? I would not wait for that, but said at once,—