She had; for the thought of David’s marrying Kitty had haunted her all those months, and now she was quite sure the blow had come.
“If she was only a nobler woman I could bear it better; but I am sure he will regret it when the first illusion is past. I fancy she reminds him of his lost Letty, and so he thinks he loves her. I pray he may be happy, and I hope it will be over soon,” thought Christie, with a groan, as she trudged away to carry comfort to those whose woes could be relieved by tea and sugar, flannel petticoats, and orders for a ton of coal.
It was over soon, but not as Christie had expected.
That evening Mr. Power was called away, and she sat alone, bravely trying to forget suspense and grief in copying the record of her last month’s labor. But she made sad work of it; for her mind was full of David and his wife, so happy in the little home which had grown doubly dear to her since she left it. No wonder then that she put down “two dozen children” to Mrs. Flanagan, and “four knit hoods” with the measles; or that a great blot fell upon “twenty yards red flannel,” as the pen dropped from the hands she clasped together; saying with all the fervor of true self-abnegation: “I hope he will be happy; oh, I hope he will be happy!”
If ever woman deserved reward for patient endeavor, hard-won submission, and unselfish love, Christie did then. And she received it in full measure; for the dear Lord requites some faithful hearts, blesses some lives that seem set apart for silent pain and solitary labor.
Snow was falling fast, and a bitter wind moaned without; the house was very still, and nothing stirred in the room but the flames dancing on the hearth, and the thin hand moving to and fro among the records of a useful life.
Suddenly the bell rang loudly and repeatedly, as if the new-comer was impatient of delay. Christie paused to listen. It was not Mr. Power’s ring, not his voice in the hall below, not his step that came leaping up the stairs, nor his hand that threw wide the door. She knew them all, and her heart stood still an instant; then she gathered up her strength, said low to herself, “Now it is coming,” and was ready for the truth, with a colorless face; eyes unnaturally bright and fixed; and one hand on her breast, as if to hold in check the rebellious heart that would throb so fast.
It was David who came in with such impetuosity. Snow-flakes shone in his hair; the glow of the keen wind was on his cheek, a smile on his lips, and in his eyes an expression she had never seen before. Happiness, touched with the shadow of some past pain; doubt and desire; gratitude and love,—all seemed to meet and mingle in it; while, about the whole man, was the free and ardent air of one relieved from some heavy burden, released from some long captivity.
“O David, what is it?” cried Christie, as he stood looking at her with this strange look.
“News, Christie! such happy news I can’t find words to tell them,” he answered, coming nearer, but too absorbed in his own emotion to heed hers.