and watched him as
he rode along, disappearing among the trees. "I think he must be going
to--seek his fortune," his mother said, restraining a sob.

"Oh, mamma!" said simple Chatty, "I would go and pray for him, but I
don't know what to ask."

"Nor I," said Mrs. Warrender. "God bless him,--that is all that one can
say."

But the house looked very dreary as they went back to it, with all the
confusion of the wedding feast and the signs of a great company departed.
They scarcely knew where to sit down, in the confusion that had been so
gay a few hours ago, and looked so miserable now.

But Theo! What was he doing? Where was he carrying the heart that beat
so high, that would be silent no longer? Was he going to lay it at the
feet of a woman who would spurn it? When would he come back, and how?
Already they began to listen, though he had scarcely set out, for the
sound of his return,--in joy or in despair, who could say?

CHAPTER XXV.

Theo came home neither late nor early; neither in joy nor in despair.
He came back harassed and impatient, eaten up with disquietude and
suspense. He was pale and red in succession ten times in a moment. He
was so much absorbed in his own thoughts that he hardly heard what was
said to him as the three sat down, a little forlorn, as the late summer
twilight began to close over all the brightness of that long fatiguing
day. The evening of the wedding, with its sense already of remoteness to
the great event of the morning so much prepared for and looked forward
to--with the atmosphere so dead and preternaturally silent which has
tingled with so much emotion, with the inevitable reaction after the
excitement--nothing could ever make this moment a cheerful one. It is
something more than the disappearance of a member of the family, it is
the end of anticipation, of excitement, of all that has been forming and
accelerating the domestic life for weeks or months, perhaps. Even if
there should happen to be an unexpressed and inexpressible relief in
having permanently escaped a rule of sharp criticism, a keen inspecting
eye which missed nothing, even that consciousness helps to take the edge
off life and make it altogether blurred and brief for the moment. The
very meal was suggestive: cold chickens, cold lamb, ham on the sideboard
with ornamentations upon it, remains of jellies, and preparations of
cream,--an altogether chilly dinner, implying in every dish a banquet
past.

And ther