Her eyes and cheeks spoke for her.
“Love him well enough to marry him even now, with all his debts and disabilities?”
Still her looks spoke; and he went calmly on: “Then, my little girl, you shall marry him, and when you see him prosperous and on the high road to success in his chosen field of labor,—think that his father blesses you and that by your loyalty and devotion you took away the sting from an old man’s death.”
A sob and a smile answered him, and Clarke, to whom this scene was the crowing glory of his love, turned and took his mother in his arms, before stooping to raise his young betrothed. It was the happiest hour in this family’s history, but it was the precursor of sorrow. That night Mr. Unwin died.
VIII.
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.
THERE were two topics of interest agitating the town. One was the appearance of a new hermit in the old cave on the mountain side, and the other, the sale of the Unwin mansion and the prospective removal of Frederick Unwin’s widow and son into the haunted house of the Earles. The latter occasioned the greater amount of talk. That this move on their part was but the preliminary step to a marriage between Clarke and the young heiress had been known for some time. But to see a house so long deserted reopened, its doors and windows thrown wide to the sun, and the smoke rising once more from its desolate chimneys, was an event calculated to interest all who had felt the indescribable awe surrounding a place abandoned by human life while yet possessing all the appointments of a home.
Polly, who for some reason had given up her former plan of renting the big Izard place, was full of business and glowing with the excitement of what was considered by many in the town a rather daring venture. Even Dr. Izard, who was not wont to show emotion, looked startled when he heard of her intentions, and seemed disposed to forbid the young girl letting a house so given over to damp and mildew. But when she urged the necessity of providing Mrs. Unwin with an immediate home and hinted at the reluctance which that lady had shown to living at the other end of the village, he relented and merely insisted that the place should be thoroughly aired and renovated before Mrs. Unwin went into it. As he was not that lady’s physician, had never been even a visitor at the Unwin mansion, he could say no more. But Polly needed no further hint, and went back to her own humble home with the most generous projects in her head for Mrs. Unwin’s future comfort and happiness.
It was a great day in Hamilton when she and Clarke and five or six interested neighbors first threw open the creaking front door of the Earle cottage and let the sunlight stream into its hushed interior. To her, who had never been permitted to enter the place since she had been taken from it fourteen years before, it was an event merely to press her foot on the worm-eaten carpets and slide her fingers along the walls that had once felt the touch of her parents’ garments. Each room was a revelation, each corner a surprise. She glided from hall to chamber and from chamber to hall like the spirit of a younger age introduced into the memorials of a long-departed one. Her fresh cheek, from which even awe could not quite banish the dimples, looked out of place and yet strangely beautiful amid the dim surroundings of the stiffly-ordered rooms and old-fashioned furnishings.
With an instinct natural enough under the circumstances, she had wished to be the first to enter the house and cross the threshold of each apartment. But Clarke was not far behind her. In front of the portrait of her father she paused and drew her friends around her.