Again it was June, and over all the fields Nature's ancient miracle had been wrought. The trees by the snake fences stood in the full pride of their rich leafage, casting deep shadows on the growing grains. As of old, the Mill lane, with its velvet grassy banks, ran between snake fences, sweet-scented, cool, and shaded. Between the rails peeped the clover, red and white. Over the top rail nodded the rich berries of the dogwood, while the sturdy thorns held bravely aloft their hard green clusters waiting the sun's warm passion. The singing voices of summer were all a-throb, filling the air with great antiphonies of praise, till this good June day was fairly wild with the sheer joy of life.
At the crest of the hill Margaret paused. This was Barney's spot.
"I'll wait here," she said to herself, a faint flush lighting up the chaste beauty of her face. But the hot sun beat down upon her with his fierce rays. "I must get into the shade," she said, climbed the fence, and, on the fragrant masses of red clover, threw herself down in the shade of the thorn tree. On this spot, how vividly the past came to her. How well she remembered the heartache of that day so long ago. The ache would never quite be gone, but with it mingled now a sweetness that only love knows how to distil from pity where trust is and high esteem.
A year had passed since she had sent **** back alone to his work, remaining herself to bring the lonely hearts of the Old Mill such help and comfort as she could. At the parting with him, Barney's words, "Take care of **** for me," had moved her to offer with shy courage to go back with him. But **** was far too generous to avail himself of any such persuasion.
"You must not come to me for pity," he said, bidding her good-bye.
But throughout the year she had waited, listening to her heart and wondering at its throbs, as from time to time the story of ****'s heroic service came to her ears; and now the year was done. Last night he had returned. To-day he would come to her. She would meet him here. Ah, there he was now. On the crest of the hill he would turn and look toward her. There, he had turned.
As **** caught sight of her he raised his voice in a shout, "Margaret!" and came running toward her.
She rose, and with her hands pressed hard upon her heart to quiet the throbbing that threatened to choke her, she stood waiting him.
Touching a top rail, he vaulted lightly over the fence and stood there waiting. "Margaret!" he cried again, with a note of anxiety in his voice that trembled under the intensity of his feeling.
But still she could not move for the tumult of joy that possessed her. "Oh, I am so glad," she whispered to herself. **** came toward her slowly, almost timidly, it seemed to her. He took her hands down from her breast, held her at arm's length, seeking to read the meaning in the blue eyes lifted so bravely to his.
"For pity's sake, Margaret?" he asked, the note of anxiety deepening in his voice.
For a moment she stood pouring her heart's love into his eyes.
"Yes," she said, shyly dropping her eyes before his ardent gaze, "and for love's sake, too."
And for **** the day's gladness grew riotous, filling his world full from earth to heaven above.
