“To Newport? How glad I am! Why, that is where I am going.”
“Indeed?” smiled Cinthia.
“Yes, if you do not forbid my following you there, which I should certainly do, even if I had not already made my plans. Oh, please don’t frown upon me so, for, indeed I have promised my aunt and cousin—who are there from the South—that I will stay there with them a while. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if Arthur came to New York just to meet me.”
Arthur—Arthur! The name struck her sharply, like a blow. She shut her lips tightly, and turned her head aside, lest he should see the mortal paleness that she felt overspreading it, while she chided herself for her weakness.
“Archie Dean, Archie Dean!—’tis the sweetest name I know,
’Tis writ on my heart; but o’er it now is drifting the cold, cold snow.”
Suddenly a great shout arose from the crowd on deck.
They were steaming majestically into port, and on the shore they saw eager throngs of friends waiting to welcome their loved ones home.
Answering shouts came back from the pier, and handkerchiefs were waved while glad tears started into many eyes, it was such a glorious thing to be safe in port, having weathered all the dangers of the sea.
“Home again! Home again!