“I am indeed fond of early walking,” replied Emma, with a smile; “but I cannot say that it is so much pleasure as duty which brings me here. I am a day-governess, and pass this pond every morning on my way to Kensington, where the family in which I teach resides.”
“Indeed,” said Willie, with that amount of emphasis which denotes moderate surprise and solicits information.
He paused for a single moment; but, seeing that Emma did not intend to speak of her own affairs, he added quickly:
“I am waiting for my brother Frank. We arranged to meet here this morning. I hope that Miss Tippet is well?”
“Quite well,” replied Emma, with a blush, as she took a sudden interest in a large duck, which swam up to the edge of the pond at that moment, in the hope, no doubt, of obtaining food from her hand. Its hopes were disappointed, however, for Emma only called it a beautiful creature; and then, turning somewhat abruptly to Willie, said, with a slight look of embarrassment, that she feared she should be late and must bid him good-morning.
Willie felt a good deal puzzled, and had he been the same Willie that we introduced at the commencement of our tale, he would have told Emma his mind candidly, and asked her what was the matter; but Willie was a man now, so he smiled, lifted his hat politely, and wished her good-morning.
Five minutes later, Frank appeared in the distance and hurried forward. Seven years had added a little to the breadth of his shoulders, and the firm self-possession of his step and look; but they had made no other perceptible impression on him. There was, indeed, a deep scar on his right temple; but that was the result of accident, not of time. Many a hairbreadth escape had he made during these seven years of fighting with the flames, and often had his life been in imminent danger; but he was fortunate in having escaped, hitherto, with only a broken leg and a variety of small cuts, scalds, and bruises. The cut on his temple was the severest, and most recent of these. He had got it in a fall through a second floor, which gave way under him as he was attempting to rescue an old bedridden man, who lay in an inner chamber. Frank was carried out in a state of insensibility on the broad shoulders of his friend Baxmore, while Dale rescued the old man.
“How goes it, Frank?” cried Willie, advancing and giving his brother’s hand a warm shake; “the cut head mending—eh?”
“Oh, it’s all right,” replied Frank, with a smile, as they sauntered up and down by the margin of the pond; “the headaches have left me now, I’m thankful to say, and the–doctor tells me it won’t leave much of a mark.”
“You don’t need to care much if it does, for it’s an honourable scar, and does not spoil your beauty, old boy.”