She laughed, jumping into the wagon then and twining one arm about
Faith's waist, much like a spray of woodbine.
"What do you think I have asked him?" she whispered,—"and what do you think he has told me?"
"I don't know," said Faith;—"but I guess."
A significant clasp of the woodbine answered that—then the hand rested in a quiet embrace.
"How well he looks!" she said, her eyes taking glad note of one figure on the seat before them. "Faith, how are you?"
"I am well."—Nothing could be quieter in its kind. "Did he tell you what he is going to do to-morrow, Pet?"
"No—" she said looking her quick inquiry. Faith's face might have told her before she spoke; such a joy sat gravely on her brow and in the depth of her eyes.
"If you go to church to-morrow, you will know."
A sudden flush, both of cheeks and eyes, bore witness to the interest of this news. The look met Faith's for a moment—then rested on Mr. Linden, and then with that little tide of feeling deepening its sweet flow, the eyes fell, the unbent lips wavered and trembled. Faith ventured only a silent act of free-masonry; a fast clasp of her fingers round Miss Linden's hand that rested on her waist; but maybe never yet in their short friendship had they felt their hearts beat so close together. With one, there was perhaps some old recollection or association—some memory of the time when such a day had been first talked of, that made self-command a hard matter; for though the lips presently grew still, and the eyes quiet, the gravity that remained was easily stirred, and the voice spoke doubtfully.
There was more discussion of various things that evening than Faith cared for, but it could not be helped. Sunday brought a lull of discussions. But the gravity which sat on Faith's face that morning was not the less but the more. If a guardian angel had shewn himself bodily, his face might have worn such a pure distance from low and trifling things and like kindred with the blue sky and the truth it emblematizes. That day was the first of her new life to Faith. Not such to Mr. Linden; but it was the first of her seeing him publicly take the office to which his life was to be given, and in which hers was to be by his side. She was a very grave "sunbeam" when she set out to walk to church—and as clear!