“I can’t thank you for what you have done, Miss Clark,” he began, “but—”
She interrupted. “You can stop callin’ me Miss Clark,” she declared. “That’s one thing you can do. I’m your Aunt Reliance now, same as I am Esther’s, and I shan’t let you forget it. Take good care of her, won’t you? She’s a precious girl and you are a lucky young man.”
The parting with Esther was harder for them both. Reliance tried her best to make it cheerful.
“There, there, dearie,” she said, as Esther sobbed on her shoulder, “don’t cry—don’t cry. You have done the right thing, you’ve got a good husband and I know you are goin’ to be happy. Write to me often, won’t you? Just as soon as you get to Boston and again as soon as you know what your plans are. And be sure and tell me where to write you.... Now don’t cry any more.”
Bob helped his wife into the buggy. From its seat she leaned down for a final word.
“Auntie,” she begged, “you will tell Uncle Foster why I did this, won’t you? You will tell him I do love him and—”
“Yes, yes. I’ll tell him everything. And I’ll see that he gets your letter.... Good-by. God bless you both.... Be sure and write me to-morrow from Boston.... Good-by.”
The buggy rolled out of the yard. She stood there, looking and listening. She heard Bob get down, open the big gate, close it behind the carriage. Then the sound of the horse’s hoofs moved off up the road.
Reliance waited until the sound died away. Then she turned and reëntered the sitting-room. Sitting down in the rocker, she laid her arms upon the center table, beside the empty glasses and the plate of cake, dropped her head upon them—and wept.