"No, no," she returned, bursting into tears; "don't judge me out of your merciful heart, Langley. I have never been a good wife to Harry, and I never shall. I try to forget, but the effort is killing me. Oh, why did he not leave me in my old home, and not have doomed us both to this misery?"
"Hush! you are not yourself to-day! I cannot hear you talk any more in this way;" and Langley rose, pale and resolute. "Put yourself and your unhappiness aside, it is too late to talk of such things now; think only of the duty you owe to Harry and your little child."
"Yes, my little child, who will so soon be without a mother," she returned, weeping passionately; but Langley only stooped over her with sad dry eyes, and, kissing her, bade God bless her, and turned away.
CHAPTER V.
A GOLDEN HARVEST.
"Yes; keep me calm, though loud and rude
The sounds my ears that greet;
Calm in the closet's solitude,
Calm in the bustling street;
Calm in the hour of buoyant health,
Calm in my hour of pain;
Calm in my poverty or wealth,
Calm in my loss or gain."—Bonar.
It had been arranged that Queenie should return to Carlisle for a day or two before entering on her new duties, leaving Emmie behind her at Church-Stile House. She must bid good-bye to her old friend, Caleb Runciman, and redeem her promise of seeing Mr. Calcott again. A brisk correspondence had been kept up between her and Caleb. The old man had expressed himself well satisfied with her plans, though many and sore were his regrets at losing her and his little favorite. "I told Mr. Calcott your intention, as you wished me, my dear," wrote Caleb, in his cramped neat hand. "He received the news in silence, but after a while he muttered, 'Well, well, it will do for a time; but it seems strange. Frank Marriott's daughter a village school-mistress!' and then he asked, querulously, if the girl were coming back? I think he misses you, my dear, though not more than I do; and what we shall do without you and the precious lamb is more than Molly and I can tell; but she has got your old room ready, and has baked a first-rate cake; and there's a warm welcome waiting for you, Miss Queenie, my dear; so no more at present, from your attached friend, Caleb Runciman."
The day after their return from Karlsmere, as they were sitting at breakfast, Garth looked up rather suddenly from the paper he was reading. "Miss Marriott, I am afraid you have lost a friend," he said, rather abruptly. "Andrew Calcott of Carlisle is dead!"
"Uncle Andrew! Oh, poor Uncle Andrew!" exclaimed Emmie, mournfully; but Queenie only started and turned pale.
"By some mistake the announcement has been postponed; he died three days ago. Ah, there is the postman coming up the walk. I should not be surprised if you have another letter from your old friend, Mr. Runciman."