Heaven's gentlest and kindest angels were busy with Mabel Dorrance's
heart in that reverie, and, as they wrought, the cloud that had
rested there for fifteen years broke into rainbow smiles that
illumined her countenance into the similitude of the shining ones.
"I bless Thee, Father, the All-wise and Ever-merciful, that she is
safe!" was her voiceless thanksgiving.
No more bitter tears over the lonely, sunken grave! no more
hearkening, with aching, never-to-be-satisfied ears for the patter
of the "little feet that never trod." The great sorrow of her life
that had been good in His sight was at length a blessing in hers.
Her "hereafter" of knowledge of His doings had come to her in this
world.
"Does it rain, Peter?" questioned Mrs. Aylett of the lad who brought
in lights.
"Yes, ma'am. It's beginnin' to storm powerful!" he said,
respectfully communicative.
"Your master has not come?"
"No, ma'am."
"See that the lantern over the great gate is lighted, and that some
one is ready to take his horse. And, Peter," as he was going out,
"tell Thomas not to bring in supper until Mr. Aylett returns."
She moved to the window, bowed her hands on either side of her eyes
to exclude the radiance within, and strained them into the black,
black night.
"He will have a dark and a disagreeable ride," she said, coming back
to the fire.
Her uneasiness was so palpable as to excite Mabel's compassion.
"Every step of the road is familiar to him, and he is accustomed to
night rides," she said, encouragingly. "Yes," absently. "But he will
be very wet. Hear the rain!"
It plashed against the north window, and tinkled upon the tin roof
of the conservatory, and Mabel, though aware of her brother's
habitual disregard of wind and weather, could not but sympathize
with the wifely concern evinced by the sober physiognomy and
unsettled demeanor of one generally so calm. She observed, now, that
her sister-in-law was arrayed more richly than usual, and her attire
was always handsome and tasteful. A deep purple silk, trimmed upon
skirt and waist with velvet bands of darker purple, showed off her
clear skin to fine advantage, and was saved from monotony of effect
by a headdress of lace and buff ribbons. A stately and a comely
matron, she was bedight for her lord's return; weighed as heavy each
minute that detained him from her arms.
She was still standing by the low mantel, her arm resting lightly
upon it, the fire-blaze bringing out lustrous reflections in her
drapery and hair, and tinging her pensive check with youthful
carmine, when her husband entered.