“I grieve to have Hilda leave us, but it is a duty. Miss Flint must have some important reason for wishing to see her. She has possession of the few articles of furniture which were my sister’s, and she may wish to see her in regard to them; or she may wish to ask forgiveness for her cruelty. Be the reason what it may, she must have her wish granted, if possible.”
Hilda passed the evening packing her trunk, and although she reproached herself that she could be glad to go from friends who were so tenderly kind, and her conscience troubled her that she could not be more sorry for the cause that was calling her back to Dorton, in spite of her reasoning she could not help rejoicing over the prospective visit.
“I will see dear Aunt Merryman and all my Dorton friends,” she said to herself with an exultant throb of her heart. “Besides, I shall miss seeing Cousin Fred.”
The next morning Mrs. Lura, who had another commission for Uncle Herbert, took Hilda to the Woodmont station, where he had not arrived, much to her displeasure, for it was nearing train time and she prophesied that with his usual want of punctuality he would be left.
Just as she arrived at the stage of impatience as to be upon the point of driving to the village for him and giving him a piece of her mind, he came in sight, walking at his usual leisurely, dignified pace, and in a few minutes they were off and Mrs. Lura went home.
Uncle Herbert was a genial traveling companion, and Hilda enjoyed the trip thoroughly. He accompanied her to the Baltimore depot as soon as they reached Philadelphia, and saw her on her way. Mr. Merryman’s carriage met her at Dorton Station and conveyed her to the cottage of Jerusha Flint. And thus, without a moment’s delay which could be avoided, Hilda stood again in one of the homes of her childhood.
Diana Strong was in attendance upon the invalid and welcomed Hilda warmly.
“How much you have grown!” she said softly. “I never would have thought that a person could improve so much in less than two years; you are really an elegant young lady.”
“Is she very ill?” asked Hilda in the same tone, as she laid aside hat and gloves in the little sitting-room.
“She is at death’s door. It appears that only her longing and hope of seeing you have kept her alive. She has something on her mind that troubles her, poor creature, and has fretted and worried to see you, and I had to get Mr. Merryman to telegraph for you to come.”