What can I tell you that you know not?
Locked in my heart thou liest!
Love has set our souls in music to the self-same air.”
A week passed, then another, and he knew the time had come when he might begin to look for letters if his correspondents were prompt.
It was now three weeks since he had left New York, but his hope of returning in a month was nipped in the bud.
The business on which his father had dispatched him dragged wearily along, and did not promise to turn out successfully. His lawyer said frankly that it would very likely detain him another month.
Just as he was beginning to chafe impatiently over the delay, came the anxiously awaited letter from his mother.
Oh! how eagerly he broke the seal, the color flying to his face, his heart beating like a trip-hammer.
For he longed for the approval of his family on his choice, longed for them to love and admire pretty Floy as he did, longed to take her to the great stately home where she would be like a glancing sunbeam in the grand surroundings.
He snatched the letter from its thick perfumed envelope, and his eager brown eyes glanced down the thickly-written pages penned by the hand of his beautiful, proud mother.