The Laurel Bush | Page 8

a very little of it, and
misinterpreted the rest.
"I have tired you. Take my arm. You will soon be at home now." Then,
after a pause, "You will not be displeased at any thing I have said? We
part friends? No, we do not part; I shall see you every day for a week,
and be able to tell you all particulars of my journey, if you care to
hear."

"Thank you, yes--I do care."
They stood together, arm in arm. The dews were falling; a sweet, soft
lilac haze had begun to creep over the sea--the solemn; far-away sea
that he was so soon to cross. Involuntarily she clung to his arm. So near,
yet so apart! Why must it be? She could have borne his going away, if
it was for his good, if he wished it; and something whispered to her that
this sudden desire to get rich was not for himself alone. But, oh! If he
would only speak! One word--one little word! After that, any thing
might come--the separation of life, the bitterness of death. To the two
hearts that had once opened each to each, in the full recognition of
mutual love, there could never more be any real parting.
But that one word he did not say. He only took the little hand that lay
on his arm and pressed it, and held it--years after, the feeling of that
clasp was as fresh on her fingers as yesterday--the hearing the foot of
some accidental passer-by, he let it go, and did not take it again.
Just at this moment the sound of distant carriage wheels was heard.
"That must be Mrs. Dalziel and the boys."
"Then I had better go. Good-by"
The daydream was over. It had all come back again--the forlorn, dreary,
hard-working world.
"Good-by, Mr. Roy." And they shook hands.
"One word," he said hastily. "I shall write to you--you will allow
me?--and I shall see you several times, a good many times before I
go?"
"I hope so."
"Then, for the present, good-by. That means," he added, earnestly,
"'God be with you!' And I know he always will."
In another minute Fortune found herself standing beside the laurel bush,

alone, listening to the sound of Mr. Roy's footsteps down the
road--listening, listening, as if, with the exceeding tension, her brain
would burst.
The carriage came, passed by; it was not Mrs. Dalziel's after all. She
thought he might discover this, and come back again; so she waited a
little--five minutes, ten--beside the laurel bush. But he did not come.
No footstep, no voice; nothing but the faint, far-away sound of the long
waves washing in upon the sands.
It was not the brain that felt like to burst now, but the heart. She
clasped her hands above her head. It did not matter; there was no
creature to see or hear that appeal--was it to man or God?--that wild,
broken sob, so contrary to her usual self-controlled and self-contained
nature. And then she learned her forehead against the gate, just where
Robert Roy had accidentally laid his hand in opening it, and wept
bitterly.
Chapter 2.
The "every day" on which Mr. Roy had reckoned for seeing his friend,
or whatsoever else he considered Miss Williams to be, proved a failure.
Her youngest pupil fell ill, and she was kept beside him, and away from
the school-room, until the doctor could decide whether the illness was
infectious or not. It turned out to be very trifling--a most trivial thing
altogether, yet weighted with a pain most difficult to bear, a sense of
fatality that almost overwhelmed one person at least. What the other
felt she did not know. He came daily as usual; she watched him come
and go, and sometimes he turned and they exchanged a greeting from
the window. But beyond that, she had to take all passively. What could
she, only a woman, do or say or plan? Nothing. Women's business is to
sit down and endure.
She had counted these days--Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
Saturday--as if they had been years. And now they were all gone, had
fled like minutes, fled emptily away. A few fragmentary facts she had
had to feed on, communicated by the boys in their rough talk.

"Mr. Roy was rather cross today."
"Not cross, Dick--only dull."
"Mr. Roy asked why David did not come in to lessons, and said he
hoped he would be better by Saturday."
"Mr. Roy said good-by to us all, and gave us each something to
remember him by when he was out in India. Did Miss Williams know
he was going out to India? Oh, how jolly!"
"Yes, and he sails next week, and the name of his ship is the Queen of
the South, and he goes