“Margaret has a pleasant letter from Franky.” Ralph visibly changed color.
“Read it, my child.”
“You read it, Mr. Houston; dear Franky!” exclaimed the girl, half smiling, half weeping, as she gave the letter to Ralph. Mr. Houston felt that he must peruse it. It was a frank, gay, affectionate letter, written as freely as a boy might write to his sister, yet much more warmly than any boy would be apt so to write. Mr. Houston could gather nothing definite from its contents. It certainly was not the letter of a young, diffident, uncertain lover, but it might mean either an intimate, youthful friendship or an understood betrothal. Upon the whole, Ralph felt disheartened; but resolved to see farther before resigning his hopes. He arose to take leave, and declining the friendly invitation of Mrs. Helmstedt, that he should spend the night on the isle, departed.
The next morning Ralph had some conversation with his father, the result of which was the consent of Colonel Houston that he should depart, as a volunteer, to serve under General Browne.
The same day Mr. Houston went over to the island to apprise his friends there of his intended departure. Mrs. Helmstedt was not surprised or displeased, but on the contrary, cordially approved his resolution. But Margaret, no adept at concealment, betrayed so much deep and keen distress, that Mr. Houston’s lately entertained ideas of an attachment between herself and Frank were all shaken. And he determined, ere the day should be over, to satisfy himself upon that point. In the course of his visit he contrived to say, aside to Mrs. Helmstedt:
“Pray, grant me a confidential interview of a few moments.”
“Margaret, my child, go down to the quarters and see if Uncle Ben is any better to-day, and if he wants anything from the house; and if he does, have it got and sent to him. One of our gardeners is ill, Mr. Houston. Now then, how can I serve you?” she asked, when her daughter had left the room.
“Mrs. Helmstedt, what I have to say relates to the fair creature who has just left us. You will place confidence in me when I assure you that, with the exception of those few impulsive words uttered the other morning, and afterward repeated to you, I have never said anything to your young daughter of the subject that lies nearest my heart; because, in fact, it is an affair belonging to the future, and I did not wish to be premature.”
“You were quite right, Ralph. It is time enough three or four years hence for any one to think of addressing Margaret.”
“Assuredly. But yet, as I deeply appreciate and devotedly love this young maiden, it behooves me to have some security that I am not freighting with my whole life’s happiness some untenable bark in which it may go to the bottom.”