Thus he pondered until the servant’s bell rang.
He hastily dressed and went down stairs. As he made his appearance earlier than usual Pompey said, “Guess you did not rest bery well, Massa?”
“No,” answered Paul, “I did not. Please hurry breakfast, as I have a long ride this morning, Pompey, and should be on the road.” Soon breakfast was ready, and after eating Paul bade his servants goodbye and started for the village.
Soon the same stage that bore Nettie on her homeward journey bore the sad, broken-hearted young man from his once happy home. One desire caused him to travel. Perhaps he would be able to find a person who resembled the picture he had closely hidden in his pocket, or, find his lost love.
It was a year since Nettie returned home. Time drearily passed by and brought momentarily each day the same longing thought: “Where is Paul?” She had read of Paul’s mother’s death in the village paper and it deeply grieved her to hear that he was all alone with no relative to bear the sorrow with him—no one to console him in this trial. Warren had written her a letter, stating Paul had started to the city.
She murmured as she sat in the little arbor by her home, “Oh, God, why did I leave him as I did; he is alone, all alone; no kindred friends to comfort him; Oh, why did I leave him?”
She was weeping piteously when a hand was laid on her head, and the owner said, “Found at last, my own. Were you weeping for me?” asked the manly voice by her side.
Nettie looked up in the manly face as she answered, “Forgive me, love, for doubting you.”
She was overcome with joy, and fell fainting at his feet. He picked her up and bore her into the cottage.
As he laid her down on the lounge he called, and Nettie’s mother came to her side. As she returned to consciousness Paul stood motionless, gazing at the mother and daughter.