“I wonder what they are ringing for?” said George, thoughtfully. “I shall never hear the sound of bells with pleasure again.”
“Why not, my dear friend?” asked Josiah, not a little curious to learn the cause of his dislike.
“Indeed, Josiah, I have not fortitude enough to tell you,” returned George, hiding his face with his hands. “I once heard them ring as merrily as they do now, on as beautiful and calm an evening as this; but I have never been happy since, and, whilst the events of that night weigh upon my mind, I shall never be happy again.”
“And will not George reveal to his friend the cause of his grief?” said Josiah, kindly taking his hand. “Whence is this want of confidence and affection; surely I have deserved neither at thy hands?”
George flung himself into Shirley’s arms, and the long-concealed truth trembled on his lips, when little Rachel cried out in a joyful tone—
“Oh, here comes Henry West! he will tell us what the bells are ringing for!”
“And that I will, and give you a fairing to boot, pretty Rachel,” said Henry, as he stooped down to kiss her rosy cheek. “Why, what’s the matter with Josiah and George? I thought I should have seen you both at the fair.”
“Nay, Henry, I am sure such a thought never entered thy head,” replied Shirley, “well knowing my aversion to such places of amusement.”
“Well, I will own I did not much expect to see you there, Mr. Prim,” said Henry, laughing; “but George has no such scruples of conscience, I dare say.”
He turned to young Hope as he finished speaking, but was astonished and frightened to see the ghastly paleness which had overspread his countenance. “Josiah! your friend is ill: I think you are very imprudent to expose him to the evening air.”