At length one day he met Linda with her governess. It was his own Linda—yet how changed! What a lovely young face! what grace—what innocence! and then how tall! Paul forgot that years mark their flight—he looked for the child, and he found a beautifully formed maiden of fifteen!
Ah, he dared not address her! he cast his eyes upon the ground and stood still for Linda to pass! and then as her little foot twinkled upon the pavement close to him, and her robe brushed his coarse garments, he involuntarily looked up. Linda turned her large hazel eye upon him. She started—a rosy blush mantled her sweet face! It seemed to the maiden that she was strangely transported back to the green grassy meadow and the play-grounds of her infancy! Again she looked at Paul:
“Linda!” he softly whispered.
“Paul!” responded the heart and the lips of Linda; and with all the innocence and gladness of a child she threw her arms around his neck, and pressed a kiss upon his sun-burned cheek!
Ah that kiss—happy, happy Paul!
But here Miss Lofty interposed. It was scandalous—kissing a young man in the street—good gracious, who ever heard of such a thing—a fellow, too, in a green jacket—monstrous!
“Why, dear Miss Lofty, it is Paul—only Paul!” cried Linda, earnestly; “how many times I have told you about my dear, dear Paul!” and then turning her back upon the horrified spinster, with her little hand clasped tightly in his, she begged of him again and again, to come and see her.
“Yes, you can call on Miss Howell, young man, if you please, but you must not stand here any longer, Miss Linda; I am really shocked at your want of delicacy. I can hardly answer to your aunt for such strange doings!” and so saying, Miss Lofty led off her young charge.
As Linda disappeared sunshine and daylight faded from the heart of poor Paul.
He felt there was now an immeasurable gulf between him and her; and, after all, why was it that he came to so sorrowful a conclusion? Was it because, as Miss Lofty had said, he wore a green jacket, and worked with his hands, while Linda sat in her delicate robes of muslin or silk, and with slender fingers wrought at her embroidery-frame, or airily swept the piano. Ah, Paul, be brave! Let not your heart fail you at mere external or worldly distinctions.