He had not intended to go that way, thinking he would send his missive over to Kilby by post, and asking himself why he had not mentioned the matter to Portlock as he drove him in that day; but somehow his footsteps turned in the direction of the farm, and he had nearly reached the turning indelibly marked in his memory as the one along which he had come that cruel eve, when suddenly a merry shout from a childish voice fell upon his ear.
He did not know why it should, but it seemed to thrill him as he went on, to come in sight of two bright, golden-haired little girls, each with her pinky fingers full of flowers, and her chubby face flushed with exercise.
They stopped and gazed at him for a moment, and then ran back.
“I’m not one whom young folks take to,” he said, bitterly; and then his heart seemed to stand still, for he saw them run up to a pale, graceful-looking woman, who bent down, and evidently said something to the children, both of whom hesitated for a moment, and then came running back.
“Sage,” he said to himself, as he involuntarily stopped short. “How changed!”
Then, as he saw the children approach, an involuntary feeling of repugnance came over him, and his heart seemed to shrink from the encounter.
His children. So pretty, but with a something in their innocent faces that reminded him terribly of their father.
He would have turned back, but he was spell-bound, and the next moment the little things were at his side, the elder to take his hand and kiss it, saying in her silvery, childish voice—
“I can’t reach to kiss you more, for being so good to poor mamma.”
“And I’ll dive you my fowers, Mitter Luke,” said the other little thing. “Sagey pick all hertelf.”