"I hain't bin thinkin' 'bout myself in this matter," he observed as he picked up the reins again and chirruped to the old horse, "an' only am wantin' ter see ye provided fur, Telly. As fur Mr. Page or any other man, every woman needs a purtector in this world, an' when the right 'un comes along, don't let yer feelin's or sense o' duty stand in the way o' havin' a home o' yer own."
"But you are not anxious to be rid of me, are you, father?" asked Telly, smiling now and gladdened by his unusual caress.
"Ye won't think that o' me," he replied, as they rattled down the sharp inclines into the village, and the ride came to an end.
But she noticed after that that he wanted her with him oftener than ever.
Later when another letter came for her in a hand that he recognized, he handed it to her with a smile and immediately left her alone to read it.
CHAPTER XXXIV
FIRELIGHT FLASHES
The halcyon days of autumn, that seemed like the last sweet smiles of summer, had come, when one day Albert packed a valise and boarded the early morning train for Maine. An insidious longing to see the girl that had been in his thoughts for four months had come to him and week by week increased until it had overcome business demands. Then he had a little good news from Stockholm, which, as he said to himself, would serve as an excuse. He had told Frank what his errand was to Uncle Terry, and to say to any that called that he would return in two days. Of his possible reception by Telly he was a good deal in doubt. She had written to him in reply to his letters, but between each of the simple, unaffected lines all he could read was an undertone of sadness. That, with a vivid recollection of what Uncle Terry had disclosed, led him to believe there was some burden on her mind and that he had or was no part in it.