CHAPTER XIII.
“WITHIN A WEEK.”
A week went by. Clovis and her troupe were gone, and the theatre closed for the summer. She had not seen Neil before leaving, but no doubt they would meet again in New York, as they had often done before. It was not alone as the actress who thrilled the hearts of the little city of N—— that he knew her. They became acquainted elsewhere, and their meetings were many and varied. But it behooves us not to tarry to speak of them;—suffice it to know that somewhere in the world, outside of the hills of home, had he found her, and had given, perhaps, a little more than passing homage to this strange woman.
During that week he closed his apartments in town, and sent his servant and his belongings to his country place, fifteen miles away, and in a few days he himself took the daily train which landed him but a mile from his door. The winding drive and rich green lawn, studded here and there with shrubbery, formed a refreshing sight to his city-weary eyes. The great dog who bounded to meet him received the warmest caresses; and the soft stillness of the evening air fell like a veil of blessing upon him, as he sat alone on his piazza.
“Here, at least, I am happy—here, at least, I may rest.” And there came to him, this prayer:
“Calm me, my God, and keep me calm
While these hot breezes blow;
Be like the night dew’s healing balm
Upon my fevered brow.”
And the picture of his mother rose before him, with her hand on his shoulder, repeating those words, in the twilight, long ago.
He was up in the early morning, and, mounting his gray, rode forth amid the fields of grain. The mellow air and leaping waters of the river beyond his door were, indeed, like unto a “healing balm” to his torn and wounded heart.