Queechy Volume Ii Part 77

"No."

"Ah! she has scratched it so. It is Fleda's."

Hugh shut his eyes again, and Mr. Carleton seeing that he had settled himself to sleep, went to the window with the paper.

It hardly told him anything he did not know before, though set in a fresh light.

"Cold blew the east wind, And thick fell the rain ?

I look'd for the tops Of the mountains in vain; Twilight was gathering, And dark grew the west, And the wood-fire's crackling Toned well with the rest.

"Speak fire, and tell me ?

Thy flickering flame Fell on me in years past ?

Say, am I the same?

Has my face the same brightness In those days it wore ?

My foot the same lightness, As it crosses the floor?

"Methinks there are changes ?

I am weary to-night ?

I once was as tireless As the bird on her flight: My bark, in full measure, Threw foam from the prow ?

Not even for pleasure Would I care to move now.

" 'Tis not the foot only That lieth thus still ?

I am weary in spirit ?

I am listless in will.

My eye vainly peereth Through the darkness, to find Some object that cheereth ?

Some light for the mind.

"What shadows come o'er me ?

What things of the past ?

Bright things of my childhood That fled all too fast; The scenes where light roaming, My foot wandered free, Come back through the gloamin' ?

Come all back to me.

"The cool autumn evening, The fair summer morn ?

The dress and the aspect Some dear ones have worn ?

The suns.h.i.+ny places ?

The shady hill side ?

The words and the faces That might not abide.

"Die out, little fire ?

Ay, blacken and pine! ?

So have paled many lights That were brighter than thine.

I can quicker thy embers Again with a breath, But the others lie cold In the ashes of death."

Mr. Carleton had read near through the paper before Fleda came in.

"I have kept you a long time, Mr. Carleton," she said, coming up to the window; "I found aunt Lucy wanted me."

But she saw with a little surprise the deepening eye which met her, and which showed, she knew, the working of strong feeling. Her own eye went to the paper in search of explanation.

"What have you there? ? Oh, Mr. Carleton," she said, putting her hand over it ? "please to give it to me!"

Fleda's face was very much in earnest. He took the hand, but did not give her the paper, and looked his refusal.

"I am ashamed you should see that! Who gave it to you?"

"You shall wreak your displeasure on no one but me," he said, smiling.

"But have you read it?"

"Yes."

"I am very sorry!"

"I am very glad, my dear Elfie."

"You will think ? you will think what wasn't true ? it was just a mood I used to get into once in a while ? I used to be angry with myself for it, but I could not help it ? one of those listless fits would take me now and then ?"

"I understand it, Elfie."

"I am very sorry you should know I ever felt or wrote so."

"Why?"

"It is very foolish and wrong ?"

"Is that a reason for my not knowing it?"

"No ? not a good one. ? But you have read it now ? wont you let me have it?"

"No ? I shall ask for all the rest of the portfolio, Elfie,"

he said, as he put it in a place of security.

"Pray, do not!" said Fleda, most unaffectedly.

"Why?"

"Because I remember Mrs. Carleton says you always have what you ask for."

"Give me permission to put on your bonnet, then?" said he, laughingly, taking it from her hand.

The air was very sweet, he footing pleasant. The first few steps of the walk were made by Fleda in silence, with eager breath, and a foot that grew lighter as it trod.