“I beg your pardon, I really do. I was not aware——”
Mark began, lifting his hat involuntarily, and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity in not observing who was near to him before asking personal questions.
With a toss of her head Helen turned away, forgetting her resentment in the more absorbing thought that Katy was leaving her.
The bell had rung, the heavy machinery groaned and creaked, and the long train was under way, while from an open window a little white hand was thrust, waving its handkerchief until the husband quietly drew it in, experiencing a feeling of relief that all was over, and that unless he chose his wife need never go back again to that vulgar crowd standing upon the platform and looking with tearful eyes and aching hearts after the fast receding train.
For a moment Mark talked with Morris Grant, explaining how he came there, and adding that on the morrow he too intended going on to Boston, to remain for a few days before Wilford sailed; then, feeling that he must in some way atone for his awkward speech regarding Aunt Betsy, he sought out Helen, still standing like a statue and watching the feathery line of smoke rising above the distant trees. Her bonnet had partially fallen from her head, revealing her bands of rich brown hair and the smooth broad forehead, while her hands were locked together, and a tear trembled on her dark eyelashes. Taken as a whole she made a striking picture standing apart from the rest and totally oblivious to them all, and Mark gazed at her a moment curiously; then, as her attitude changed and she drew her hat back to its place, he advanced toward her, making some pleasant remark about the morning and the appearance of the country generally. He knew he could not openly apologize, but he made what amends he could by talking to her so familiarly that Helen almost forgot how she hated him and all others who like him lived in New York and resembled Wilford Cameron. It was Mark who led her to the carriage which Morris said was waiting. Mark who handed her in, smoothing down the folds of her dress, and then stood leaning against the door, chatting with Morris, who thought once of asking him to enter and go back to Linwood. But when he remembered how unequal he was to entertaining any one that day, he said merely,
“On your way from Boston, call and see me. I shall be glad of your company then.”
“Which means that you do not wish it now,” Mark laughingly rejoined, as, offering his hand to both Morris and Helen, he touched his hat and walked away.
CHAPTER XI.
AFTER THE MARRIAGE.
“Why did you invite him to Linwood?” Helen began. “I am sure we have had city guests enough. Oh, if Wilford Cameron had only never come, we should have had Katy now,” and the sister-love overcame every other feeling, making Helen cry bitterly as they drove back to the farm-house.
Morris could not comfort her then, and so in silence he left her and went on his way to Linwood. It was well for him that there were many sick ones on his list, for in attending to them he forgot himself in part, so that the day with him passed faster than at the farm-house, where life and its interests seemed suddenly to have stopped. Nothing had power to rouse Helen, who never realized how much she loved her young sister until now, when she listlessly put to rights the room which had been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It was a sad task picking up that disordered chamber, bearing so many traces of Katy, and Helen’s heart ached terribly as she hung away the little pink calico dressing-gown in which Katy had looked so prettily, and picked up from the floor the pile of skirts lying just where they had been left the previous night; but when it came to the little half-worn slippers which had been thrown one here and another there as Katy danced out of them, she could control herself no longer, and stopping in her work sobbed bitterly, “Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you!” But tears could not bring Katy back, and knowing this, Helen dried her eyes ere long and joined the family below, who like herself were spiritless and sad.