must be patient and merit his
notice, for my own folly sank me in his good opinion. When these
apples were pale, pink blossoms, I dreaded his coming, and hoped the
vessel would be wrecked; now, ere they are ripe, I am disposed to
curse the cause of his temporary absence and think myself ill-used
that no farewell privileges were granted me. Now I can understand why
people find comfort in praying for those they love; for what else can
I do but pray while he is away? Oh, I shall not, cannot, will not,
miss my way to heaven if he gets there before me!"

In utter abandonment she threw herself down in the long yellow
sedge-grass,--frightening a whole covey of gossiping young partridges
and a couple of meek doves, all of which whirred away to an adjacent
pea-field, leaving her with her face buried in her hands, and watched
by trembling mute crickets and cicadae.

On the topmost twig of the tallest tree a mocking-bird poised himself,
and sympathetically poured out his vesper canticle,--a song of
condolence to the prostrate figure who, just then, would have
preferred the echo of a man's deep voice to all Pergolese's strains.

After a little while pitying Venus swung her golden globe in among the
apple-boughs, peeping compassionately at her luckless votary; and,
finally, in the violet west,--

"Two silver beacons sphered in the skies,
Eve in her cradle opening her eyes."

Two weeks dragged themselves away without bringing any tidings of
the absent master; but, towards the close of the third, a brief
letter informed his sister that the invalid friend was still alive,
though no hope of his recovery was entertained, and that it was
impossible to fix any period for the writer's return. Salome asked
no questions, but the eager, hungry expression, with which she
eyed the letter as it lay on the top of the stocking-basket,
touched Miss Jane's tender heart; and, knowing that it contained no
allusion to the orphan, she put it into her hand, and noticed the
cloud of disappointment that gathered over her features as she
perused and refolded it. Another week--monotonous, tedious, almost
interminable--crept by, and one morning as Salome passed the
post-office she inquired for letters, and received one post-marked
New York and addressed to Miss Jane.

Hurrying homeward with the precious missive, her pace would well-nigh
have distanced Hermes, and the dusty winding road seemed to mock her
with lengthening curves while she pressed on