“Speak?” cried Julia excitedly. “Oh, mother, dear mother, your words seemed so strange; they almost break my heart.”
“Hearts do not break, Julie,” said Mrs Hallam softly; “they can bear so much, my darling, so much.”
“But you spoke as if you never thought to see this dear old place again.”
“Did I, my child?” said Mrs Hallam, dreamily, as she gazed wistfully round. “Well, who knows? who knows? Life cannot be all joy, and we must be prepared for change.”
“And we must go, mother, away—to that place?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Hallam sternly, and she drew herself up, and seemed as if she were trying to harden her heart against the weakness of her child.
It had been a painful meeting, over which Mrs Luttrell had broken down, while the old doctor had stood with quivering lip.
“I can’t say a word, my child. I could only beg of you to stay.”
“And tear and wring my heart anew, dear father,” Millicent had said in return with many a tender caress.
Then the old people had pleaded that Julia might remain; and there had been another painful scene, and the night of their coming had been indeed a mingling of joy and sorrow.