"Here we are at last," said Ralph, cheerily, as the two theodolite and chain-bearing wanderers reached Ralph's home; "and now I hope sister Mary has thought of us while we have been away," he added, as he pushed open the door.
If Sarah Wilson were ever jealous, in her pretty pouting way, of the unknown Mary Burgess, she might have known that there was no foundation for such a feeling. Ralph's sister was ten years older than himself, and he was some two or three years older than his friend Walter. Besides this disparity of age, Miss Burgess was so far afflicted in health as that, while she was not incapacitated from active domestic life in general, she knew it to be indispensable that that life should be a single one. And she submitted to this necessity, not only without a murmur, but cheerfully; for she was a heroine of no common stamp—she was a Christian heroine.
It is true Walter had written admiringly and praisingly, both to his sister and his cousin, of Mary Burgess's excellent qualities and superior good sense, and above all, of her kindness to him. And he had not thought it necessary to mention those disqualifications which he would have felt were nothing to him, one way or the other. Naturally enough, therefore, Elizabeth and Sarah might have been innocently led into an error which, in one case, excited exultation, and in the other, jealousy and suspicion.
This short explanation is necessary to clear the way. We now resume our narrative proper.
Mary Burgess had thought of her brother and his friend; and they were all seated at the substantial meal, comprehending dinner, tea, and supper in one, provided by her carefulness, when the postman's knock was heard.
"Two for you, Walter," said Ralph, handing them over to him, when the budget of letters, mostly on business, was laid on the table.
Walter glanced at their superscription, and went on with his meal. "They will keep till after dinner," said he, which they did.
Then he broke the seal, first of one, then of the other, and was presently immersed in their contents, as fine writers would say.
Very soon his countenance was overclouded, and exclamations of impatience from time to time escaped his lips. He read on, however, to the end of them both, and then threw them passionately on the table.
"Read them, please, Ralph, and you also, Miss Burgess, if you care to be bothered with my concerns, and tell me what you think of them," said Walter, huskily, as he left the room for a stroll in the garden.