And the doctor bowed, and descended the steps.
Mr. Bergan turned to his nephew. "I hope you left my sister well," said he.
"Quite well. I have a letter from her for you. I am ashamed that it has not been delivered before, but--"
Bergan hesitated; a further explanation would take him upon delicate ground.
"Never mind the sequence of the 'but,'" said his uncle, smiling, albeit a little gravely;--"I am aware that the road from Bergan Hall to Oakstead is not so smooth as could be wished. I"--there was a slight hesitation, as if a colder phrase had been sought, and not found,--"I am glad that you were able to surmount its difficulties so soon. A letter from Eleanor!" he went on, with a sudden change of subject,--"that will be a treat indeed! I take shame to myself that our correspondence has fallen into such desuetude. But what one ever did survive the lapse of forty-two years, without the reviving impulse of an occasional meeting? I hardly dare venture a question about my sister's family, lest I make some terrific blunder. I am not even sure about the present number of her children."
"'Left' implies 'taken,'" said Mr. Bergan, with a sigh.
"So have we," replied Mr. Bergan. "But we have not six left--we have only one. However, she is a host in herself,--at least, we think so,"--he added, with a smile at his own enthusiasm. "But, will you come in and see your aunt and cousin?"
He led the way to a small room, pleasantly furnished as a library; and Bergan followed him, though not without a vague sense of a lurking reluctance and lukewarmness in the invitation,--which he sternly smothered, nevertheless, as unworthy of himself and unjust to his uncle.
Stepping to an open French window, Mr. Bergan slightly raised his voice and called,--
"Yes, father!" was the instant answer, in a voice of peculiar richness and melody; and the next moment a young girl stood in the window, with a light shawl wrapped round her slender figure, and her hands filled with autumn flowers, just gathered. The light was too dim to show her features clearly; but a certain indefinable freshness and sweetness seemed to enter the room with her and diffuse itself through the atmosphere not less perceptibly than the scent of the flowers. At sight of a stranger, imperfectly seen in the twilight obscurity of the room, she stopped abruptly.