Whereby the angel of thy youth was slain,
That thou might all possess him unafraid,
If love should come again?
“In vain I ask. My heart makes no reply,
But echoes evermore that sweet refrain:
If love should come again!”
“Yes, the loss of Queenie Trevalyn was a blow which I can never get over, though I believed myself a strong man,” he mused, the hard, bitter lines of disappointment and pain deepening on his face, and painting shadows in his troubled eyes.
“And what a surprise it was to me to hear that letter read which the farmer received from his brother-in-law down in New Orleans, which so vitally interested me. How strange it is that this girl was to be sent to the home of Queenie, in New York, and fate interposed in sending her here where I am instead. But she shall not know me. I will take care of that.”
He had no opportunity to cogitate further, for the carriage by this time had reached the gate where he stood.
Lucy Caldwell did not wait for him to approach to assist her from the vehicle, but sprang out with the nimbleness of foot which characterized her.