"On the eve?--so soon?"
"Very soon, he told me. Dear Fleda--shall I remind you of my commission, and who gave it to me?"
Fleda hesitated still; at least she stood looking into the fire and did not answer.
"You do not own his authority yet," Mrs. Carleton went on,--"but I am sure his wishes do not weigh for nothing with you, and I can plead them."
Probably it was a source of some gratification to Mrs. Carleton to see those deep spots on Fleda's cheeks. They were a silent tribute to an invisible presence that flattered the lady's affection,--or her pride.
"What do you say, dear Fleda--to him and to me?" she said smiling and kissing her.
"I will come, Mrs. Carleton."
The lady was quite satisfied and departed on the instant, having got, she said, all she wanted; and Fleda--cried till her eyes were sore.
The days were few that remained to them in their old home; not more than a week, as Fleda had said. It was the first week in May.
The evening before they were to leave Queechy, Fleda and Mrs. Rossitur went together to pay their farewell visit to Hugh's grave. It was some distance off. They walked there arm in arm without a word by the way.