The beautiful authoress blushed vividly and then grew very pale. She made no answer to the half question. No one quite knew what she intended to do. No one could understand her, she was so shy, so reticent, she blushed so at the slightest mention of Mr. Le Roy's name.
But Beatrix, as she held her in her arms at parting, whispered, pleadingly, against her cheek:
"You will not be hard and unforgiving any longer, dear. You will go home to him?"
"You shall hear from me in a few days," Laurel answered; and Beatrix was obliged to be content with that ambiguous reply.
They went back to Belle Vue. The autumn days had set in now, and the trees were clothed in all the glory of their autumn coloring. From hill to hill, from shore to shore glowed with scarlet and brown and gold. The sun shone still with all the brightness of summer, the flowers were in their glory yet. There was no cloud in all the summer sky that morning when Laurel went shyly up to her uncle's side.
"Uncle Carlyle, I want you to take me over to Eden this morning," she said, with the beautiful blushes mantling on her cheeks.
He drew the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. The hour for which he had longed and dreaded had come. He was going to lose Laurel and his darling little Laurie.
"My dear, are you strong enough?" he asked her, wistfully. "Remember, we only came to Belle Vue yesterday."
"I am so restless—it seems as if I cannot wait," she said, and he saw that the dark eyes were full of unrest and pain.
"We will go at once, dear," he said; and though he did not say another word, Laurel understood why he took her so tenderly in his arms and kissed her. She did not speak. Her heart was too full for words.