The mockery of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt."
—Whittier.
Mildred had been alone for several hours;—very profitable ones to her—when opening the door in answer to a gentle rap, she found Mr. Dinsmore standing there.
"If you will invite me in," he said with a smile, "I may perhaps accept."
"Do come in, uncle," she replied, returning the smile; "it is very pleasant here, and I can give you a warm welcome. See, my fire is blazing cheerily; and does not that easy chair look inviting?"
"Yes," he answered, taking her hand and gazing searchingly into her face, seeing something there that puzzled him greatly; for though the traces of tears were very evident, it wore a look of peace that had been foreign to it of late, "but what is the matter? not bad news from home, I hope."
"No, oh no!" she said, "they were all well and nothing amiss when mother wrote," but her eyes filled and her lips quivered as she spoke.
"Homesick, I'm afraid," he said kindly, patting and stroking the hand he held; "the natural effect of news from there, I suppose; especially in this wretched weather; but don't give up to it, my dear. We'll find ways to make the time pass pleasantly spite of the storm; home sports, amusing books."
"You are very kind always, dear uncle," she said with a grateful look, "but it is not that; I have been living too much for mere amusement of late."