tter, how long the journey would take, and more than all, what she
must do while he was away. How long the absence would be--when he
should be at home again, that was little touched upon by either; the
return might be very speedy--that seemed most probable, but neither he
nor Faith cared to put in words all the uncertainties that hung about
it. From every point he came back to her,--with injunctions about her
strength, and directions about her studies, and charges to take care of
herself _for him_--with other words of comfort and cheering, spoken
cheerfully from a very sorrowful heart. One other charge he gave--

"My little Sunbeam, my dearest Faith, keep both your names unclouded!"

"I have had one lesson, Endy"--

She was a little pale, but had listened to him quietly as intently;
voice and smile both ready to do their part, albeit gravely, whenever
there was a part for them.

"I shall not forget--" she added now with a smile, a rare one, after a
little pause.

He brought her back to the sofa then, kissing the pale cheeks as if he
missed their carnations. Yet--with the stringency of the old law which
saith that "Doublet and hose must shew itself courageous to
petticoat"--Mr. Linden gave her bright words, although they were words
of a very grave brightness--not contradicted, but qualified by his eyes.

"Mignonette," he said, "I did not think next year could gain brightness
from anything--but I cannot tell you how it has looked to me within
these last two hours. If I could but call in Mr. Somers, and then take
you with me!"

It brought a rush of the carnations; but Faith did not think so
extravagant a wish required any combating. Neither did she say what
_she_ thought of "next year."

That evening at least they had quietly together. What Faith did after
they had separated for the night, Mr. Linden never knew; but the
morning saw everything ready for his departure,--ready down to the
little details which a man recognizes only (for the most part) by the
sense of want. And if cheeks were paler than last night, they were only
now and then less steady--till he was gone.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Dr. Harrison took passage in the steamship Vulcan, C. W. Cyclops,
commander, for the Old World; having come to the conclusion that the
southern country was not sufficiently remote, and that only a change of
hemispheres would suit the precise state of his mind. Letters of
combined farewell and notice-giving, reached Pattaqu