As we reached the summit of the hill, my mother was looking out of one window toward the river, and I looked out of the other, and saw, beyond the church spire and over the hills, the white walls of my home.
"Frank!" whispered a low voice.
Ernest was by the carriage. There was a look exchanged, a word, and he was gone. Gone into the trees by the? roadside.
He left a flower in my hand. I placed it silently in my bosom.
"Frank! How beautiful you have grown!" said my mother, turning from the window, and fixing upon me an ardent and admiring gaze. And the next moment she was wrapt in thought and the wrinkle grew deeper between her brows.
[CHAPTER IX.]
ERNEST AND HIS SINGULAR ADVENTURE.
Before I resume my own history, I must relate an instance in the life of Ernest, which had an important bearing on his fate. (This incident I derive from MSS. written by Ernest himself.) Soon after my departure from the cottage home, he came to New York with his father, and they directed their steps to my mother's residence; as indicated on the card which she had left with the clergyman; but to their great disappointment, they discovered that my mother and myself had just left town for Niagara Falls. Six months afterward, Ernest received a long letter from me, concluding with these words: "To-morrow, myself and mother take passage for Europe, in the steamer. We will be absent for a year or more."
Determined to see me at all hazards, he hurried to town, but, too late! The steamer had sailed; her flag fluttered in the air, far down the bay, as standing on the battery, Ernest followed her course, with an almost maddened gaze. Sorrowfully he returned to the country and informed his father of my sudden departure for Europe.