If falsehood has left me a tear to shed
For Truth, those tears are true.—Owen Meredith.
The greenness of the grass, the freshness of the flowers, and the splendor of the sunshine, still lingered; the glorious Indian summer still lived on through the gorgeous month of October, and even staid to welcome the arrival of sad November.
At high noon, one day about this time, Drusilla was sauntering slowly through her garden, trying to gather strength and comfort from the beauty and refulgence of the scene and hour, when she suddenly heard the outer gate open.
She looked up to see the cause, and she started violently and changed color; for she saw—
Mr. Richard Hammond!
He was now walking up the avenue towards the house.
On seeing him, her first natural emotion was that of astonishment; her first clear impression was that he came from her husband on some errand to herself. All in a tumult of delight, she hastened to meet him.
“Mrs. Alexander Lyon, I believe,” said Dick, at a hazard, and respectfully raising his hat as he came on to greet her.
“Yes, that is my now name,” answered the young matron, with a smile and a blush of happiness, not of confusion, as the questioner particularly noticed.