‘Oh!’ as she perceived Lord Northmoor.
‘A Canadian bear I have just brought home, eh, Amy?’ said he, exhilarated into fun for once, while Lady Adela indulged in a quiet smile at the manner of partaking of humble pie.
Amice had, however, broken up the tête-à-tête, and all were soon together again, Lady Adela greeting Captain Alder as an old friend, and he, in the restraint of good breeding, betraying none of his
feeling at the contrast between the girlish wife and the faded widow, although perhaps in very truth Adela Morton was a happier, certainly a more peaceful woman now than in those days.
All must spend the evening together. Where? The Northmoors carried the day, Adela and Bertha must come up to dinner, yes, and Amice too. It was fine moonlight and the Captain would stay and escort them.
Meantime Lord and Lady Northmoor revelled in a moonlight walk together exactly as they had done seven years before as a bride and bridegroom, but with that further ingredient in joy before them—that nightly romp with their Mite, to which Frank had been looking forward all through his voyage. Their Mite all the happier because his Tom and Fanny were at the keeper’s lodge, and allowed to play with him in the garden, and on the heath.
Six weeks later, Lord Northmoor acted as father at Bertha’s wedding, a quiet one, with Constance and Amice as bridesmaids, with, as supernumerary, little Boadicea, who was to share the new Canadian home.
Michael was there in the glory of his first knickerbockers, and Mrs. Bury was there, and her last words ere the bride came down dressed for the journey were, ‘How about “that stick,” my dear?’
‘Ah! sticks are sometimes made of good material.’
‘There is a tree that groweth by the Water Side,’ said Adela.