"But where are you going, Endy?"
"That waits partly on your choice. In general, to hills, cities, and rivers,—the Falls, the White Mountains, Washington, and the pictured rocks of Lake Superior. Then to some shore where you can see real surf—and to delight the eyes of some of my old friends by the way."
Faith's eye went gravely over to the sunny Long Island shore, but her mind had made a perfect leap. The only outward token of which was the unconsciously playing line of her lips. Such a journey!—with him! The breeze from the White Mountains seemed to blow in her face already, and the capital of the country rose before her in a most luminous cloud-view. With Mr. Linden to guide her and to tell her everything!—She did not see the eyes that were watching her, but when she suddenly noticed the silence and turned towards Mr. Linden, the smile was on his lips too.
"I thought I should go right to work," she said,—"to study—to make up for lost time. Can't I do that too?"
"As much as you like! But don't you know there is a lost holiday to be made up, as well?"
"It is made up,"—she said gently, after a minute's hesitation.
"How that grieved me when I went away!" said Mr. Linden,—"to take from you what I might never be able to replace. But sit down, dear child—I want to consult you about various things."
Faith sat down and looked—like a grave child indeed. Her journey for the present forgotten, and all her mind bent on something more weighty and worthy.
"I told you I had three letters for you to read," said Mr. Linden. "One reached me in Germany, two I found waiting for me here. They are all about the same subject, Mignonette: where you and I shall establish ourselves."
A flush rose, but she looked steadily.