“Mrs. West did not urge me to return, neither did Richard, but he went with me to the gate, opening it for me, and then, standing a moment as if there was something he would say, ‘You do look tired, Dora,—more so than I thought. You are not strong enough for all you have gone through. I think I must prescribe,’ and he took my hand to feel the quickened pulse. ‘You are feverish,’ he continued. ‘You ought to rest, but we shall miss you so much. It’s a comfort to know you are here.’
“I was very foolish, very nervous, and the tears started, but I dashed them away, and taking the offered medicine, answered back, ‘I leave to Jessie the task of comforter. She will do better than I.’
“The next moment I was walking rapidly down the street, never looking back until the corner was reached, when, glancing over my shoulder, I saw the doctor still standing where I had left him, leaning upon the gate. I never remember a time when I was so childish, or more unhappy, than I was that day and the following, which last was the day of Robin’s funeral. There was no parade, no display,—only a few friends and neighbors, with Jessie, presiding genius, telling everybody what to do, while, stranger than all, Judge Verner himself was there as director, his carriage bearing Mrs. West and Richard to the grave where they buried Robin.
“There was something in the young man which he liked, he said, even if he was a fool, and so he had offered no objections to Jessie’s proceedings, and was himself doing what he could for the family. There was room in the carriage for four, and greatly to my surprise the Judge whispered to me:
“‘That chap they call Doctor wants you to go with them. He says, next to his mother, the child loved you the best.’
“I was very faint for an instant, and then shrinking back into the corner I answered no, so decidedly that the judge hastened away, repeating his ill success to Richard, who had risen, and with his mother on his arm was advancing to the door. As he passed me he stopped, and reaching his hand said gently, ‘Dora, come with us; for Robin’s sake.’
“I could not resist that voice, and I went forward taking his other arm, and so out into the yard, past the groups of people who speculated curiously as to why Miss Freeman should go with the chief mourners. Behind us came Mr. Randall’s carriage, with Mattie, and Bell, and Jessie, and that in a measure relieved me of my rather awkward position.
“‘Mother,’ Richard said, as we drew near the cemetery, ‘it is seven years to-day since Anna died. Do you remember?’
“‘Yes,’ she answered sadly, while I remembered that seven years ago was also to have been his bridal.
“Did he think of it as we wound round the gravelled road, past the willow and the cedar, past the box, the pine, and fir, to where Anna lay sleeping? Did he look back with anguish and regret to that other day, when, with the August sunshine falling upon him as it was falling now, he listened to the solemn words, ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ and heard the cold earth rattle down upon the coffin-lid? Yes, he did, I was sure, and this was what blanched his cheeks so white and made his lips quiver so, as we returned to the carriage and were driven from the yard, leaving Anna and Robin there alone.