The sudden departure of the sisters from Birkwoodbrae, few knew precisely for where, caused something like consternation—at least, a great deal of commiseration—in the place they had left behind them. Their sweet, soft, ladylike faces and presence were missed erelong from the pew in which they had sat on Sundays from childhood; countless acts of kindness, goodness, charity, and benevolence were remembered now and rehearsed by cottage hearths and 'ingle-lums' again and again, and all deplored that the places which knew them once would know them no more!
When, two days after their departure, Captain Colville, with a magnificent diamond ring for Mary, and intent on taking up the story of his love where he had left it off, rode over to Birkwoodbrae, he went in hot haste to the manse for intelligence, and then he and Dr. Wodrow looked blankly in each other's face.
'Gone—what does it all mean?' impetuously asked the captain, whose wounded hand was in a black silk sling, and who looked pale and thin.
'It simply means that they have abruptly left us, and we may never see them again,' replied Dr. Wodrow, with unconcealed grief and irritation.
'Gone—gone!' exclaimed Colville, changing colour, or losing it rather; 'why did I not sooner tell them who I was—why act the part I did, and lure you into doing so, too?'
'Ay—why, indeed,' groaned the poor minister. 'You see what strength of character they both possess—Mary, certainly, at least.'
'And they have left no address—no clue?'
'None.'
'Mary wrote a farewell note to Mrs. Wodrow, saying she had not the heart to bid her good-bye verbally. Her friends of the past, she wrote, were no longer for her now—she had a new sphere of action to enter upon, a new life to lead, and new duties to fulfil, with much more to the same purpose, and that erelong she would write from London.'
'London!' exclaimed Colville, striking his right heel on the floor.