until Will called her; but she could not sew
another stitch. And when at last the aching silence in her ears was
filled by Will's joyful "Come here, Aspatria! Here is such a parcel as
never was,--from foreign parts too!" she hardly knew how her feet
twinkled down the long corridor and stairs.

The parcel was from Rome. Ulfar had sent it to his London banker, and
the banker had sent a special messenger to Dalton with it. Over the
fells at that season no one but Ringham could have found a safe way;
and Ringham was made so welcome that he was quite imperious. He
ordered himself a rasher of bacon, and a bowl of the famous barley
broth, and spread himself comfortably before the great hearth-place.
At the table stood Aspatria, William, and Brune. Aspatria was
nervously trying to undo the seals and cords that bound love's message
to her. Will finally took his pocket-knife and cut them. There was a
long letter, and a box containing exquisite ornaments of Roman
cameos,--precious onyx, made more precious by work of rare artistic
beauty, a comb for her dark hair, a necklace for her white throat,
bracelets for her slender wrists, a girdle of stones linked with gold
for her waist. Oh, how full of simple delight she was! She was too
happy to speak. Then Will discovered a smaller package. It was for
himself and Brune. Will's present was a cameo ring, on which were
engraved the Anneys and Fenwick arms. Brune had a scarf-pin,
representing a lovely Hebe. It was a great day at Seat-Ambar. Aspatria
could work no more; Will and Brune felt it impossible to finish the
game they had begun.

There is a tide in everything: this was the spring-tide of Aspatria's
love. In its overflowing she was happy for many a day after her
brothers had begun to speculate and wonder why Ringham did not come.
Suddenly it struck her that the snow was gone, and the road open, and
that there was no letter. She began to worry, and Will quietly rode
over to Dalton, to ask if any letter was lying there. He came back
empty-handed, silent, and a little surly. The anniversary of their
meeting was at hand: surely Ulfar would remember it, so Aspatria
thought, and she watched from dawn to dark, but no token of
remembrance came. The flowers began to bloom, the birds to sing, the
May sunshine flooded the earth with glory, but fear and doubt and
dismay and daily disappointment made deepest, darkest winter in the
low, long room where Aspatria watched and waited. Her sewing ha