CHAPTER V. MILITARY SOCIETY.
“My trust
Like a good parent did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary as great
As my trust was, which had indeed no limit.”—TEMPEST.
Rose found the wheeled chair, to which her aunt gave the preference, was engaged, and shaking her little discreet head at “the shakey chair” and “the stuffy chair,” she turned pensively homeward, and was speeding down Mackarel Lane, when she was stayed by the words, “My little girl!” and the grandest and most bearded gentleman she had ever seen, demanded, “Can you tell me if Miss Williams lives here?”
“My aunt?” exclaimed Rose, gazing up with her pretty, frightened-fawn look.
“Indeed!” he exclaimed, looking eagerly at her, “then you are the child of a very old friend of mine! Did you never hear him speak of his old school-fellow, Colin Keith?”
“Papa is away,” said Rose, turning back her neck to get a full view of his face from under the brim of her hat.
“‘Will you run on and ask your aunt if she would like to see me?” he added.
Thus it was that Ermine heard the quick patter of the child’s steps, followed by the manly tread, and the words sounded in her ears, “Aunt Ermine, there’s a gentleman, and he has a great beard, and he says he is papa’s old friend! And here he is.”
Ermine’s beaming eyes as absolutely met the new comer as though she had sprung forward. “I thought you would come,” she said, in a voice serene with exceeding bliss.
“I have found you at last,” as their hands clasped; and they gazed into each other’s faces in the untroubled repose of the meeting, exclusive of all else.