At the commencement of this correspondence Fred ignored the title “cousin” in inditing and ending his epistles, and substituted “My Dearest Hilda,” or “My Beloved Hilda,” as the fancy of the moment dictated, and signed them “Your Devoted Fred.” Her answering missives were guided by his letters, modified, however, by maidenly reserve, but at his request she ceased to address him as “cousin.”
As the winter wore on, snows and rains and like excuses were utilized by Fred as preventing his weekly visits; and after the spring came and merged into summer he made only fortnightly visits to the farmhouse, as was his custom before Hilda became a member of the home circle. His letters, however, came punctually and gave lively details of the social festivities in Springfield society. “Dear Hilda” appeared to be a sufficiently affectionate appellation in inditing these missives, and before the autumn came “Cousin Hilda” seemed to satisfy his surely waning affection.
A silent, but none the less attentive observer of all this was Mrs. Warfield, although she never saw or asked to see a line of the correspondence. But after Hilda’s reception of a letter from Fred she failed to see the glow of pleasure which had illuminated the sweet face in the early days of the engagement; instead, a wounded, unsatisfied expression sat upon the sad lips and tried to hide itself in the depths of the pensive eyes.
One morning Hilda received her usual letter from Mrs. Merryman and one from Fred, brought from the village post-office by Ben Duvall. She hurried to her room to read them. Mrs. Warfield, who had gone to her own room adjoining, heard her ascend the stairs, enter her room and close the door, and expected after time was given her to peruse them to hear her gentle tap upon her door Mrs. Merryman’s letter in hand to read aloud, as was her custom. All remained silent for such a length of time that Mrs. Warfield had almost concluded that her eyes had deceived her, and Hilda had not received letters, when she heard her foot-steps pause at the door.
“Come in, darling, I am here,” she called, and Hilda came in slowly with Mrs. Merryman’s letter open in her hand. A bright spot burned on either cheek, but it was evidently not caused by pleasure. There was a look of having shed tears, and when she took a low chair near Mrs. Warfield and read the letter her voice trembled, although she made an effort to steady it.
Mrs. Merryman’s letter was long and interesting. Her former letters had informed Hilda of the absence of Mr. Valentine Courtney. This one mentioned the place of his sojourn in the old world as heard through Mrs. Courtney. It gave details of all the little happenings in Dorton and in its neighborhood, and of affairs at “My Lady’s Manor” under the management of Mrs. MacQuoid, as reported by Norah, and closed with the intelligence of the illness of Jerusha Flint.
Mrs. Warfield listened attentively to the letter from beginning to end, and thanked Hilda for giving her the pleasure of hearing it; at the same time she heard nothing to warrant the subdued excitement of the reader.
She was quite sure that it was not the illness of Miss Flint or Hilda would have made allusion to it. Moreover, her manner appeared to take more of anger than grief, and Mrs. Warfield felt assured in consequence that a letter had been received from Fred, and it was responsible for that anger.
As soon as Hilda finished she arose and returned to her own room.
“Aunt Sarah,” she said a few minutes later, “do you wish anything from the village? I am going to the post-office.”