They had hardly done so, when Walter Travilla came running with letters which he said had just come from the office.
“There are several for each of you; you are fortunate this morning,” he added; “however, that depends very much upon what is in them.”
“So it does, Wal,” said Calhoun, glancing at his, and perceiving that the direction on one of them was in a masculine hand and the postmark that of the town where Mary’s parents lived.
His pulses quickened at the sight, and his face flushed.
Walter had run away, and Mary was breaking the seal of her own letter from home; she seemed too busy with it to notice the excitement of her companion, seeing which he silently opened and read his to himself.
The two epistles were of much the same tone and tenor. The parents, though feeling it a sore trial to part with their child—their eldest daughter—gave full consent, since that seemed necessary to her happiness.
Mary’s feelings as she read were of strangely mingled happiness and heartache. She loved the man at her side, loved him so dearly that she could scarce have borne to resign him, yet the thought of leaving the dear parents who had loved and cherished her all her days was almost equally unendurable. Her tears began to fall, and the sound of a low sob startled Calhoun just as he finished the perusal of Mr. Keith’s letter, which brought only joy to him.
“Oh, dearest, what is it?” he asked, passing an arm about her waist. “Does that letter bring you bad news? Mine gives me only the joyful intelligence of your parents’ consent; so that I have a right to comfort you in any trouble, if it lies in my power.”
“Do not be vexed or offended that the same news is not all joy to me,” she returned, smiling through her tears. “My father and mother are very, very dear to me; they have loved and cherished me all my life; their home has always been mine, and—” but overcome by emotion, she ended with a sob, leaving her sentence unfinished.
“And you are giving them up for me, a comparative stranger, and far from worthy of such a prize as yourself,” he said in low, tender tones, taking her hand and pressing it affectionately in his. “Dear girl, if love, tenderness, entire devotion can make you happy, you shall never regret the sacrifice.”