"Arthur! Good evening. I'm so glad to see you again!"
She looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her
lashes, and the smile on her face.
"I called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the
street, so I thought I might be pardoned for coming too."
They were silent for a few moments. It was so like old times to be
walking there together. The early stars shone faintly; but the clouds
were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound
save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the
bleat of lambs in the distance. Presently Arthur broke the silence with
sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss.
"I should have written to you if I had known, but I was sick in the
hospital, and I didn't--"
"Sick in the hospital! Why, Arthur, have you been ill? What was the
matter?"
"A light typhoid fever. I went to the Wesleyan College, at Montreal,
after that, so I didn't even know you had come back to college."
"To the Wesleyan? I thought you were so attached to Victoria! Whatever
made you leave it, Arthur?"
He flushed slightly, and evaded her question.
"Do you know, it was so funny, Arthur, you roomed in the very house
where I boarded last fall, and I never knew a thing about it till
afterward? Wasn't it odd we didn't meet?"
Again he made some evasive reply, and she had an odd sensation, as of
something cold passing between them.
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