“I never s’posed she’d stay so long when she went away, or I couldn’t let her go; but somehow or other she’s staid on and on till she’s been gone many a year; many a year has Milly been gone, fifteen years come fall, and now ‘tain’t likely I should know her, if I could see. You won’t be offended, Mis’ Thornton, if I say that something about you makes me think of Milly; something in your voice at first, and you laid your head on my neck and cried just as she used to when things went wrong and fretted her, which they mostly did, for she wasn’t meant to be poor, and was always wantin’ to be rich and grand. I guess she is grand now she’s been in foreign places so much, but she’s comin’ home in the fall; she wrote me so in her last letter. You’ll call on her, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Mildred stammered, scarcely able to keep herself from crying out: “Oh, mother, I have come. I am Milly,” but a thought of her husband restrained her, and thinking how she would make amends in the future, when freed from her promise of secrecy, she listened again, while her mother talked of her father and Charlie, and lastly of Hugh McGregor, who was a great favorite with the old lady.
“Jest like my own boy,” Mrs. Leach said, “and so kind to Tom. He lent him money to go to school, and helps him a sight in his law books, and helps on the farm, too, when he gets time, which is not often, for Hugh is a first-rate lawyer and pleads at the bar like a judge. I believe he’s comin’. Yes, I hear his step,” and her face lighted up as Hugh appeared in the open door.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Leach,” he called cheerily. “I beg your pardon, good morning, Mrs. Thornton,” and he bowed deferentially to the lady as he came in with a cluster of lovely roses, which he laid in Mrs. Leach’s lap, saying, “Here are some of Milly’s roses. They opened this morning and I brought them to you. Shall I give one to Mrs. Thornton?”
“Yes, do; the fairest and best. I think she must be like them, though I can’t see her,” Mrs. Leach replied, and selecting one of the finest, Hugh offered it to Mildred, whose cheeks rivaled it in color, as she held it near them to inhale its perfume.
It was of the variety known as “Souvenir d’un Ami,” and the original stock had been bought by Mrs. Leach two or three years before with some money sent her by Mildred, whose name she had given to the rose. This she explained to Mildred, adding that Mr. McGregor was so fond of the rose that he had taken a slip from her garden and planted it under his office window.
“He calls it Milly’s rose,” she added, “for he and Milly were great friends, as children. Hugh, ain’t there something about Mis’ Thornton that makes you think of Milly?”
Mildred’s face was scarlet, but she tried to hide it by bending her head very low as she fastened the rose to the bosom of her dress, while Hugh answered laughingly, “Why, no. Milly was small and thin, and a child when we saw her, while Mrs. Thornton is——” here he stopped, confused and uncertain as to what he ought to say next. But when Mildred’s eyes flashed upon him expectantly, he added very gallantly, “Mrs. Thornton is more like Milly’s roses.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. McGregor. I will remember it and keep Milly’s rose, too,” Mildred said, with a little dash of coquetry, and a ring in her voice which made Hugh think of the Milly who, he supposed, was thousands of miles away.
Just then there was the sound of wheels stopping before the house, and Gerard, with his apron still tied around his neck, for he was not yet through with his culinary duties, came to the door, saying, “Mrs. Thornton, father is waiting for you.”