"There seems," he wrote to his son, toward the close, "to be a little cloud upon Faith, somehow. Perhaps it is one you would not wish away. It may brighten up and roll off, at your return. You, possibly, understand it better than I. Yet I feel, in my strong anxiety for your true good, impelled to warn you against letting her deceive herself and you, by giving you less than, for her own happiness and yours, she ought to be able to give. Do not marry the child, Paul, if there can be a doubt of her entire affection for you. You had better go through life alone, than with a wife's half love. If you have reason to imagine that she feels bound by anything in the past to what the present cannot heartily ratify--release her. I counsel you to this, not more in justice to her, than for the saving of your own peace. She writes you to-day. It may be that the antidote comes with the hurt. I may be quite mistaken. But I hurt you, my son, only to save a sorer pain. Faith is true. If she says she loves you, believe her, and take her, though all the world should doubt. But if she is fearful--if she hesitates--be fearful, and hesitate yourself, lest your marriage be no true marriage before Heaven!"
Paul Rushleigh thanked his father, briefly, for his admonition, in reply. He wrote, also, to Faith--affectionately, but with something, at last, of her own reserve. He should not probably write again. In a week, or less, he would be home.
And behind, and beyond all this, that could be put on paper, was the hope of a life--the sharp doubt of days--waiting the final word!
In a week, he would be home! A week! It might bring much!
Dinner was nearly ended at Lakeside. Cool jellies, and creams, and fruits, were on the table for dessert. Steaming dishes of meats and vegetables had been gladly sent away, but slightly partaken. The day was sultry. Even now, at five in the afternoon, the heat was hardly mitigated from that of midday.
They lingered over their dessert, and spoke, rather languidly, of what might be done after.
"For me," said Mr. Rushleigh, "I must go down to the mills again, before night. If either, or both of you, like a drive, I shall be glad to have you with me."
"Those hot mills!" exclaimed Margaret. "What an excursion to propose!"