The day at Karlsmere proved as delightful in reality as it was in anticipation. Garth was in one of his boyish, frolicsome moods. He and Queenie hunted for ferns, and gathered wild flowers, while Langley walked thoughtfully beside the margin of the beautiful lake. It was a golden day in Queenie's memory. How often she recalled that walk afterwards. The blue shimmering lake, so still and silent in the sunlight; the winding roads; the steep woody height on the farther bank; the pretty vicarage with its trim garden and the tiny church, reminding her of a small ill-furnished room. The tall athletic figure in the grey suit, vaulting lightly over the crisp bracken high above them; the handful of wild flowers tossed laughingly at her feet; Langley standing on a smooth white boulder, looking with grave unsmiling eyes at the baby waves lapping to her feet. How well she recalled it all.
"There's Harry coming to meet us," shouted Garth; but Langley did not hear him. She stood in that strange, self-absorbed attitude, motionless and oblivious, till Nan ran up to her and pulled her dress; and then the color rushed over her pale face with surprise, and she stooped and pressed the child closely to her.
"Little Nan, my dear little Nan," she whispered.
"I am father's Nan," lisped the child. "I am nobody's Nan but father's. Father's up there," pointing with her fore-finger to the rocks above them. "He and Jeb are both there. I carried Jeb, but he was heavy, and my arms did ache."
"Yes, you are father's Nan," repeated Langley dreamily; "father's little comforter;" and as she kissed the little face a sudden mist rose before her eyes.
"Why are your eyes wet when you kiss me?" questioned Nan curiously, "and why do you always kiss me so close, so close? Mammie never does; but only father, only father and you."
"Hush, Nan; I love you. Do you hear me, Nan? I love you dearly, dearly." Langley spoke in a strange, stifled voice, but the child only gazed at her in surprise.
"You need not cry about it. You know father loves me too, but he never cries over me. Mammie does; but then she pushes me away."
"Ah, poor mother is ill, you know."
Nan reflected a moment gravely. "Yes; her head did ache. She said 'Go away, Nan, you tire me; go to father and Jeb;' and I did go. Mammie does not love Nan much."