CHAPTER XXII.
THE STRANGER GUEST.
It happened very fortunately that Mose could stay at home all winter, for Mr. Greyson’s health began to fail him, so that he could not work as formerly, and therefore every cent that Mose earned, went to support the family. Hesper also took in plain sewing, which, with the time she devoted to the education of her younger brothers, kept her always busy. The interchange of letters between her and Harry, was as frequent as time and distance would allow, and so grateful did the poor fellow seem for her kindness, so tender and delicate in his expressions of affection, and so hopeful for the future, that the thought of him became to her a continual inspiration and joy. His name was mingled in her prayers, and she thanked God most sincerely for this new and beautiful phase in her experience.
The spring of that year was very mild and early, and as soon as possible, the whole Greyson family commenced gardening operations. Hesper reserved the front yard for herself, and soon converted it into a most flourishing flower-garden. Her tulips and daffodils, hyacinths and pansies, were the admiration of the whole village, and especially of aunt Betsey, who helped herself from them freely.
One evening, about sunset, as she was very busy among the flowers, she was startled by the sound of a footstep, and turning, she beheld a strange gentleman, very tall and pale, just entering the front gate. He slightly raised his hat, and bowed coldly, as he said—
“Good evening, Miss. Is Moses Greyson—your brother, I suppose—at home?”
“No, sir,” replied Hesper, “he went down to the village about half an hour since, but said he should be back soon. Will you please step in and wait for him?”
“No, I thank you,” said the stranger, “I prefer walking till he returns, and perhaps I may meet him.”
He raised his hat, with another stiff bow, and then turned away. Hesper looked after him with curiosity and surprise. His face, though so very pale, was handsome, on account of the regular features, large dark eyes and high forehead, but then the expression of his countenance was of a marble coldness, and his whole manner stiff and formal. She felt quite certain that she had seen his face before, but where, she could not tell. She perplexed herself a long time over this dim memory, when suddenly it occurred to her that this person must be Mr. Clyde, the friend of Mose, whose likeness he had given to aunt Nyna by mistake, on the day of his return.