Worked in white yarn at the top of each leg were the words, "Remember me."
"T-till d-death," he whispered.
"With me on your mind an' them on your feet you ought to be happy," said Annette.
"An' w-warm," he answered, soberly.
Presently she read aloud to him from the St. Lawrence Republican.
"S-some day," said Silas, when at last he had risen to go.
"Some day," she repeated, with a smile.
The only sort of engagement between them lay in the two words "some day." They served as an avowal of love and intention. Amplified, as it were, by look and tone as well as by the pressure of the hand-clasp, they were understood of both.
To-day as Annette returned the assurance she playfully patted his cheek, a rare token of her approval.
Silas left her at the door and made his way down the dark road. He began to give himself some highly pleasing assurances.