And he leant down and kissed her.
“Come in, my boy—my Willie man—my only precious boy that I was so proud of.”
And William kissed her again, and cried over her thin shoulder, and she, close laid to his breast, sobbed also; each felt the tremble in the other’s kindly arms.
Thank God it was made up now—the two loving hearts so near again—sweet and bitter the angelic love and mortal sadness—the sense of uncertainty and parting mingling with the great affection that welled up from the eternal fountain of love. Improve the hours of light. The time is near when the poor heart will tremble no more, and all the world of loving thoughts lie in dust and silence.
“I am going to give you the silver tobacco-box that was on Marston Moor—it is the most valuable thing I have—it has the inscription on the inside of the cover. It was in my foolish old head to send it to Doctor Sprague for you. It was your ancestor’s. The ‘Warwickshire Knight,’ we called him—Sir Edwin. He joined the Parliament, you know, and took the name of Perfect. I always intended the tobacco-box for you, Willie, even when I was offended—come in—come, my darling.”
And she drew in the prodigal with her arm in his, and her hand on his fingers, liking to feel as well as to see and to hear him—to be quite sure of him!
“Dinner, Tom, this minute,” said she to old Tom, who, grinning, spoke his hearty word of welcome in the hall, “Master William is very hungry—he has come ever so far—tell Mrs. Podgers—come Willie—are you cold?”
So before the bright fire, which was pleasant that clear red, frosty evening, they sat—and looking fondly on him, her hand on his, she said—
“A little thin—certainly a little thin—have you been quite well, Willie—quite well?”
“Yes, quite well—all right—and how have you been?” he answered and asked.