The great avenue of Hurston was all aglow with the golden sunset. Stray beams trembled among the shadows of the massive oaks, bathed the stone terrace in a flood of crimson radiance, and lingered lovingly among the quaint parterres, where all day long they had given life and beauty to the flowers. The "parting smile of day" illumined lawn and garden, mellowed the rugged outlines of the ancient hall, and threw over its gloomy grandeur a golden mist that seemed to spiritualize it.
But more brightly and lovingly than elsewhere it rested on the fair brow and golden curls of young Lord Hurston, as, reclining on his couch with his face turned to the sunset, he watched with boyish delight the beauty of the scene.
"Close the book, Aunt Caddy," he said, turning to a pale, graceful lady, who, seated on an ottoman beside him, had been reading to the young invalid the most beautiful of the great poet's Idylls. "Close the book; for you are tired, and I want you to look at the sunset and talk to me. Isn't it beautiful? See that great oak at the bend of the avenue! Every leaf seems woven with gold. I wonder if that little squirrel has his nest among the roots yet. What a pile of nuts I found there long ago, before I was sick! I wonder if I will ever be well enough to hunt squirrels again?" And the little speaker sighed as he turned restlessly on his couch.
"I hope so, darling," Aunt Caddy replied fondly. "But we must be patient, you know."
"Yes, I know. But it is hard sometimes—only sometimes—Aunt Caddy; for boys are not like girls; they might lie still and not care so much. But when Lady Rayburn and Percy and George were here, and I saw how the boys could climb and ride and jump; and when I had Floy brought out from the stable for them and I heard her call me just as she used when I could ride—I wouldn't tell any one but you—but O Aunt Caddy! I cried when I was all by myself—cried like a great baby girl."
Aunt Caddy's eyes were bright with tears of pity.
"My poor pet! was it so hard for you? Then grandmamma will not ask them here again."
"No, no! dear auntie; that would never do. I am not such a coward as to mind feeling badly; and then, I would bear it better next time. No, no! Hurston Hall must be open to every one, as it was in grandpapa's time, as it would be if papa had lived, even though its lord is only a sick boy who can but lie on his cushions and let his guests amuse themselves as they please. Only I wish I were as good and patient as you would be in my place. You are just like Elaine. If you were grieved or sorrowful, no one would ever know it. You would only grow pale and quiet and silent, until some morning you would float away from us over the dark waters with the story of your sorrow folded over your still heart."
The crimson glow of sunset seemed to flush Aunt Caddy's cheek as she bent to kiss the pale, little, earnest face.