As he was an honorable young man, and his love was real, making her truly and always happy was the solitary consideration. These thoughts marred the parting; they blistered and ravaged his spirit on the whole dreary way back to Liverpool. There his colored servant, an antic darkey, was waiting at the old Susquehanna House to ride the horse to Philadelphia.
The young man boarded the packet, riding on it to Harrisburg, where he took the steam train for home. In one way he was happier than ever before in his life, for he had found love; in another he was the most dejected of men, for his beloved might never be his own.
He seemed gayer and stronger to his family; evidently the trip into the wilderness had done him good. He had begun his letter-writing to Caroline promptly. It was his great solace in his heart perplexity. She wrote a very good letter, very tender and sympathetic; the handwriting was clear, almost masculine, denoting the bravery of her spirit.
During the winter he was called upon through his sisters to mingle much with the society of the city. He met many beautiful and attractive young women, but for him the die of love had been cast. He was Caroline’s irretrievably. Absence made his love firmer, yet the solution of it all the more enigmatical.
The time passed on apace. Another autumn set in, but on account of important business matters it was not until December that Sargeant departed for the wilds of mountainous Pennsylvania. But he could spend Christmas with his love.
This time he sent two horses ahead to Liverpool. When he reached the queer old river town he dropped into an old saddlery shop, where the canal-boat drivers had their harness mended, and purchased a neat side saddle, all studded with brass-headed nails. This he tied on behind his servant’s saddle.
The two horsemen started up the beautiful West Mahantango, crossing the Shade Mountain to Swinefordstown, thence along the edge of Jack’s Mountain, by the gently flowing Karoondinha, to Hartley Hall and the Narrows, through the Fox Gap and Minnick’s Gap, a slightly shorter route to Stover’s.
On his previous trip he had ridden along the river to Selin’s Grove, across Chestnut Ridge to New Berlin, over Shamokin Ridge to Youngmanstown, and from there to the Narrows; he was in no hurry; no dearly loved girl was waiting for him in those days.
Caroline, looking prettier than ever–she was a trifle plumper and redder cheeked–was at the post office steps to greet him. Despite his avoidance of words of love, she was certain of his inmost feelings, and opined that somehow the ultimate result would be well.
Sargeant had arranged to arrive on a Saturday evening, so that they could begin their ride to the cave that night after the post office closed, and be there bright and early Sunday morning. For this reason he had traveled by very easy stages from Hartley Hall, that the horses might be fresh for their added journey.