On that summer evening, a year ago, she had said to him, "No, Miles, you must give me back my promise; for I will never be the wife of a man that I cannot trust out of my sight for half-an-hour."
And so they parted—he to grow more thoughtless and reckless than ever, because he held himself to be an injured man; she to watch over him from a distance with the folded hands of prayer, and to weep and mourn in secret; while she carried before her little mountain world a brow so calm, and a manner so serene and collected, that folks said she was unfeeling, fickle, and heartless.
Other young farmers, and one or two land or mine agents, had paid their court in the meantime; but no one had been even listened to. And all the while that old faded ribbon had been lying carefully folded up in her drawer.
What, then, can have brought about this remarkable visit? It is a diplomatic arrangement between the "heads of houses." First of all, Alice made a friendly call on Bella, taking with her a nosegay of spice pinks and sweet-williams, and cursorily mentioning Miles' name some dozen times, always in a highly favorable manner. This she considered to be particularly skilful, and even very deep.
Then the eldest Hartley youth called to see Miles in return, and carried home the news that "he was wasted to an atomy, and looked as quiet like as schoolmaster himself." This report produced an extraordinary sensation at Scarf Beck Farm; and the impression was followed up by a ceremonious visit from old Geordie Garthwaite, with the present of a fat little black pig from the widow Lawson to Mrs. Hartley, which was graciously accepted, the faithful feudal emissary taking occasion to drop sundry laudatory remarks about "young master's talk being now as good as any sermon," and "if he went on much longer of that fashion, he was frightened of seeing him soon a saint in heaven; for he was right away too good for this evil world." Bella ran off to her little chamber when she heard this, and did not appear again that day.
Next came Old Ann, with an offering of a favorite guinea-hen for Miss Bell, remarking "as how 'twas young master that sent it, though he wasn't so bold as to show his face in it." This was spoken in a very audible voice just under Bella's window. But of course the guinea-hen walked and flew home again as soon as the hour came for sounding that strange muezzin cry from the top of the round chimney, "Come back, come back."
Then, at last, Mrs. Hartley ordered the shandry, and drove over to The Yews to report the loss of the sentimental fowl. She was received with extraordinary alacrity, and was engaged with Mrs. Lawson in the old oak parlor, with closed doors, for a mysteriously long time. The result of this interview was an announcement that the whole Hartley family were coming over to tea and supper on the afternoon which has been previously introduced.
Poor Miles evidently has not the strength or the courage to encounter the excitements of this grand arrival. He is sitting in the deep shadow of the pointed porch, almost justifying by his emaciated appearance and changed expression of countenance, the eulogium and the fear expressed by his old retainer, Geordie Garthwaite. He waits until Bella Hartley passes by, and then nervously calls her by name; she stops and kindly holds out her hand, "Miles, how ill you look; how changed you are!"
"God grant I may be changed indeed, Bella, for 'twas high time; and the good of his long-suffering is, that it leads to repentance."
The tears were in her eyes in a moment, but the smile that shone through that summer shower was a very rainbow of beauty.