"Suppose you go over and see," she said.
"Is it any one I know?" I asked.
"I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as though expecting you."
I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf—for the house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing, almost opposite Mrs. Wickham's—and before I could ascend the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.
"Bertha Sprague! I was sure it was you when I saw you go to Mrs. Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I was here?"
"She had no opportunity until to-day," I said. "But dear Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you know that."
"Yes, I am sure you would."
Then I recounted to her something of my visit to Mrs. Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear face full of sympathy, then said:
"There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know? When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days! Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is this divine life!"
She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully: "Now, tell me of my children—are they coming?"