"
"Poor Sophy!" cried David Chantrey, with a tremor in his voice; "did she
see me coming, then? Go back to her, Miss Holland; she will want you. Is
there nothing I can do for her? It has been a hard time for her, poor
girl!"
Ann Holland went back into the parlor, and he smiled as he heard her
take the precaution of turning the key in the lock. He threw himself
into the three-cornered chair, and sat listening to the murmur of voices
on the other side of the door. It seemed a very peaceful home. The
quaintness and antiqueness of the homely kitchen chimed in with his
present feeling; he wanted no display or grandeur. This was no common
every-day world he was in; there was a strange flavor about every
circumstance. Impatient as he was to see Sophy, and hold her once more
in his arms, he could not but feel a sense of comfort and tranquillity
mingling with his more unquiet happiness. There was a fire burning
cheerily on the hearth, though it was a May evening. Coming from a
warmer climate, he felt chilly, and he bent over the fire, stretching
over it his long thin hands, which told plainly their story of mere
scholarly work and of health never very vigorous, Smiling all the time,
with the glow of the flame on his face, with its expression of tranquil
gladness, as of one who had long been buffeted about, but had reached
home at last, he sat listening till the voices ceased.
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