O, for the castles that blow down in a year!
But time fell gently on the inmates of the Old House. The trees and vines were a little larger; and winter had somewhat browned the gables. Bell was paler and more beautiful, and Mortimer was still the same dreamer.
There was a question which haunted the Old House. It was heard in the garden, at "the round window," and on the stair.
"When will father come home?"
The months flew away, like carrier doves, with memories beneath their wings.
"When will father come home?"
And the question was asked again and again, till the little lips and heart of Bell grew weary. Then she folded her hands, and said:
"He will never come!"
Her blue eyes became more dreamy, and her slight form—so very slight—glided about the house. She would listen to the sea. Once she said, "Never more!" and the sea repeated it with a human voice. In the still night she asked,—
"When will father come home?"