John Greylston went
slowly to the window, and pushed aside the curtains, and as he stood
there looking out somewhat gravely in the bleak and wintry night, he
felt a soft hand touch him, and he turned and found Annie Bermond by
his side.
"You looked so lonely, my dear uncle."
"And that is the reason you deserted Walter?" he said, laughing.
"Well, I will soon send you back to him. But, look out here first,
Annie, and tell me what you see;" and she laid her face close to the
window-pane, and, after a minute's silence, said,
"I see the ground white with snow, the sky gleaming with stars, and
the dear old pines, tall and stately as ever."
"Yes, the pines; that is what I meant, my child. Ah, they have been
my silent monitors ever since that day; you remember it, Annie!
Bless you, child! how much good you did us then."
But Annie was silently crying beside him. John Greylton wiped his
eyes, and then he called his sister Margaret to the window.
"Annie and I have been looking at the old pines, and you can guess
what we were thinking about. As for myself," he added, "I never see
those trees without feeling saddened and rebuked. I never recall
that season of error, without the deepest shame and grief. And still
the old pines stand. Well, Madge, one day they will shade our
graves; and of late I have thought that day would dawn very soon.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275