But Miss Linden knew whither the look went, that seemed to go no further than the apple trees; and what was the pressure that made a quick breath now and then and a hurried finger. Perhaps her own pulses began to move with accelerated beat. And when towards the end of May Mrs. Iredell found business occasion for being in Quilipeak a fortnight, Pet so urged upon Mrs. Derrick the advantages of the scheme, that she carried off Faith with her. It would break the waiting and watching, and act as a diversion, she said,—and Faith did not contradict her.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Established fairly in that great Quilipeak hotel, Faith found her way of life very pleasant. Mrs. Iredell was much in her own room, coming out now and then for a while to watch the two young things at their work. A pretty sight!—for some of the work had been brought along,—fast getting finished now, under the witching of "sweet counsel." Miss Linden declared that for her part she was sorry it was so near done,—what Faith thought about it she did not say.
Meantime, June was using her rosy wings day by day, and in another week Mr. Linden might be looked for. Just what steamer he would take was a. little uncertain, but from that time two people at least would begin to hope, and a day or two before that time they were to go back to Pattaquasset.
The week was near the ending—so was the work,—and in their pretty parlour the two ladies wrought on as usual. The morning had been spent in explorations with Reuben Taylor and Sam Stoutenburgh, and now it was afternoon of a cool June day, with a fresh breeze scouting round to see what sweets it could pick up, and coming in at the open window to report. On the table was a delicate tinted summer muslin spread out to receive its trimming, over which Faith and Miss Linden stood and debated and laughed,—then Faith went back to her low seat in the window and the hem of a pocket handkerchief. So—half looking out and half in,—the quiet street sounds murmuring with the rustle of the many elm leaves,—Faith sat, the wind playing Cupid to her Psyche; and Miss Linden stood by the table and the muslin dress.
"Faith," she said contemplatively, "What flowers do you suppose
Endecott would get you to wear with this—out of a garden full?"
"It is difficult to tell"—said Faith; "he finds just what he wants, just where I shouldn't look for it." And a vision of red oak-leaves, and other illustrations, flitted across Faith's fancy.
"Very true," said Miss Linden,—"precisely what Aunt Iredell said when she first saw you,—but I am inclined to think, that the first day you appear in this you will see him appear with a bunch of white roses—probably Lamarques; if—"
"Why Lamarques?" said Faith sewing away. "Pet, how pleasant this wind is."
Miss Linden did not immediately answer. She stood resting her finger tips on the muslin dress, looking down at it with an intentness that might have seen through thicker stuff, the colour in her cheeks deepening and deepening. "Why?" she said abstractedly,—"they're beautiful—don't you think so?—Oh Faith!"—With a joyous clasp of the hands she sprang to the window, and dropped the curtain like a screen before her. There was no time to ask questions—nor need. Faith heard the opening door, the word spoken to the waiter,—saw Mr. Linden himself come in.