  In the golden days of June, more than three months after the occurrences of our last chapter, Laurie Meredith returned to the scene of his love affair, and made his way to the large stone house where the Fieldings had lived last summer. He had not had a letter from Flower for the last two months, and this had brought him to seek her earlier than he otherwise would have done, for while he had received her letters he had known that she was well and contented, but her silence filled him with such fear and discontent that he left Germany, determined to have it out with the Fieldings and take his bride away. No rumor of the changes that had taken place since his departure had reached him. He knew not that Mrs. Fielding was the inmate of a lunatic asylum, and Flower The parlor window was open, and the notes of the piano, accompanied by a sweet voice, became audible as he stepped upon the porch. He stopped a minute to hear, thinking that the musical voice belonged to Flower. Then he shivered. The voice and the words were so sad that they struck a chill to his heart. It was only an old song, heard many a time before, but its plaintive sadness had never struck him as forcibly as now, when it came sighing through the lace curtains, and mingling with the summer breezes: "Weary of living, so weary, Longing to lie down and die, To find for the sad heart and dreary The end of the pilgrimage nigh; Weary, so weary of wishing For a form that has gone from my sight, For a voice that is hushed to me ever, For eyes that to me were so bright! "Weary, so weary of waiting, Waiting for sympathy sweet, For something to love and to love me, The pleasures that are not so fleet; For a hand to be held on my forehead, A glimpse of the golden-brown hair, For a step that to me was sweet music, And a brow that was noble and fair!'" Laurie Meredith's heart thrilled in sympathy with the singer. It was Flower, of course. She was thinking of him, the sweet darling, he knew. Oh, how glad she would be to see him again! He opened the front door without ceremony, and entered the hall, reckless of the risk he ran of meeting Mrs. Fielding and encountering her angry reproaches. He would stop for nothing now, so anxious was he to clasp that sweet singer to his heart, and tell her she should never be "weary of waiting" again, never be parted from him more. But the wide hall was silent and deserted. Very softly he opened the parlor door and stepped across the threshold. Then he saw that the girl at the piano was the only occupant of the room. She turned around quickly, and he saw dark eyes instead of blue ones, dark locks instead of golden curls. Jewel sprung up with a thrilling cry: "At last!" There was unmistakable love and joy in her face and voice. She made no effort to conceal her glad surprise. Had she not been waiting for this hour for months, had she not dressed for him daily, determined that whenever he came he should find her at her best? And now, conscious of her pretty, rose-tinted mull, that was so becoming to her dusky beauty, she rejoiced that her efforts were crowned with success. Her beauty could not fail to make a strong impression. But he started back in surprise and disappointment, and forgetting even the conventional greeting he owed her, exclaimed, eagerly: "Where is Flower?" "Flower?" cried Jewel, sharply, with a clouded brow. "Oh, Mr. Meredith, did you not know? Poor Flower is dead!" |
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