Another note was repeated by the hills. "I said so! they are coming—singing! Isn't that like Charley?" She distinguished voices as they approached;—Carry's soft alto; Mrs. Dana's soprano,—"Arthur—yes! that is his tenor—and Mr. Dana and Charley have the base!"
"The tune changes!" said Emma. "Auld Lang Syne—oh! how sweet!"
Ida's eyes were streaming,—her heart aching with joy. The carriages—two—and a buggy, drove up to the door; and with a scream of rapture she lifted Carry to the ground,—not knowing who came next—only that they were all there. All! no! where was Charley? She stopped upon the steps; Elle holding to her dress; one hand in Carry's, the other upon her guardian's arm.
"Charley! where are you?"
"Here!" with a muster-roll intonation. He raised her fingers to his lips—an unprecedented action with him—and holding them still, looked over his shoulder. "Here is a gentleman who is afraid you will shut your doors upon him, for coming without a special invitation."
"Mr. Germaine!" thought Ida, fearfully;—but his was not the figure that emerged from the shade,—nor the warm grasp, in which Charley, with a movement full of grace and feeling, placed her hand;—nor his the voice that said—"I do not doubt her hospitality, but my deserts."
"Do you forget your friends, that you expect a similar fate, Mr. Lacy?" said Ida.
His actual presence was the roseleaf upon the mantling cup of bliss. It did not overflow;—tumultuating passions were stilled into a calm, delicious ecstacy. She was more composed than she had been at any time since the reading of the letter,—saw everything, thought of everybody. Carry and Emma went up-stairs arm in arm, and Ida, her baby namesake, folded to her heart, was following Mrs. Dana, when she recollected Laura. She was standing, alone and overlooked, in the hall.
"Here, Laura! I confide my darling to your keeping. Gently! don't wake her. Is she not a lovely babe?"
"Beautiful!" said Laura, in proud gratification.