Thus it was that it was arranged that it was best for Hubert to go away, travel abroad, and return a year from that day to claim Jessie. But it was with many misgivings that Hubert tore himself away.
"If anything comes of this enforced separation, always remember that I pleaded hard against it, but in the end yielded to your wishes." On the morrow Hubert Varrick left Boston.
During the months that followed Jessie lived quietly at the Varrick mansion with Hubert's mother.
The year of probation had not yet waned, when, one lovely April morning, while Jessie was walking through the grounds that surrounded the mansion, she espied a bearded stranger standing at the gate, leaning on it with folded arms, evidently lost in admiration of the early blossoming buds and half-blown roses.
"Permit me to gather you some of the roses you seem to be admiring so much, sir," she said, courteously.
"Pardon me, would you permit me to enter and gather for myself the one I care for most?"
The request was an odd one, but she granted it with a smile.
He swung open the heavy gate, and in an instant was by her side, folding her in his arms, and kissing her with all his soul on his lips.
"Am I changed so that Love can not recognise me?" he cried.
"Hubert—oh, Hubert! is it you—really you?" sobbed Jessie, laughing and crying all in a breath.