The mechanic evidently struggled with bitter recollections, but subduing them, offered his hand calmly to Mr. Warden. “You are my guest, Mr. Warden,” said he, “and as such, are not the less entitled to my hospitality that you are the son of one who has done cruel wrong to me and mine.”
“But not irretrievable wrong, thank Heaven!” replied young Warden. “The son shall expiate the crimes of the father. To-morrow, Mr. Merritt—to-morrow shall be the dawn of a happier day.”
Mr. Merritt made no reply. Warden did not resume the subject, and they sat some time in silence. William had frequently glanced around the room since his entrance, and his countenance now assumed a perplexed and anxious expression. There was one missing, of whom he wished, yet feared to know. At length he mustered sufficient courage to inquire in as indifferent a tone as he could assume, “Where is Miss Emma?”
Mrs. Merritt then recounted the history of Emma’s trip to the village, and her narrow escape from a dreadful death on the prairies, and how the firing had been the means of their rescue; to all of which he listened with intense interest. He, too, had heard the gun, and been saved by it from a similar fate.
On the next morning Emma was quite herself again. She had not heard of the traveler’s arrival, and when she came into the breakfast-room and saw William Warden, she almost fainted. The tell-tale blood, which had at first retreated, now crimsoned her cheek—and William himself seemed to have caught the contagion, for his face was all on fire. They shook hands as composedly as possible under the circumstances, and succeeded in exchanging a few interrogatories without betraying the secret agitation of their hearts to the eye of the mechanic. If William had loved Emma at sixteen, how much more worthy of his love did she now appear. She had grown taller, and every childish grace had matured into beautiful womanhood. The climate had tinged her complexion with the slightest possible brown, and her plain western dress fitted her charming figure so well, that he would not have exchanged it for the richest robe that ever decked a haughty ball-room belle.
William, too, how vastly he was improved. Three years had transformed the slight stripling into the form of manly beauty; and his eyes beamed with the intelligence of superior intellect. Emma thought him even handsomer than ever.