There are some persons whose prerogative it is to carry sunshine with them wherever they go. Clarence Ensign was one of these. Without an effort, without any display of incongruous hilarity, he always succeeded by the mere joyousness of his own nature, in calling forth all that was bright and enjoyable in others. When therefore they stepped into the quaint old-fashioned parlor, all prepared to receive them, Paula was not surprised to perceive it brighten, and her aunts’ faces grow cheerful and smiling. Who could meet Clarence Ensign’s laughing eye and not smile? What did astonish her, however, was the sight of an elegant basket of hothouse lowers perched on a table in the centre of the room. It made her pause, and cast looks of inquiry at the demure countenance of Miss Abby, and the quietly satisfied expression of her more thoughtful aunt.
“A remembrance from the city!” said Mr. Ensign gracefully. “I thought it might help to recall some happy hours to you.”
With a swelling of the heart which she could not understand, she leaned over the ample cluster of roses and heliotrope. She felt as though she could embrace them; they were more than flowers, they were the visible emblem of all she had missed, and for which she had longed these many months.
“I seem to receive the whole in the part,” said she.
He may or may not have understood her, but he saw she was gratified, and that was sufficient. The afternoon flew by on wings of light. Miss Belinda, who was not accustomed to holidays, but who thoroughly appreciated them when they came, entered into the conversation with zest; while Miss Abby’s unconscious expressions of pleasure were too naive not to add to, rather than detract from the general enjoyment. The twilight, with its goodbye, came all too soon.
“I have a request to make before I go,” said Mr. Ensign. He was standing alone with Paula in the embrasure of the window, a few moments before his departure. “When we see a flower nodding on a ledge above our heads, we long for it; I have heard you talk of friendship, and a great desire has seized me. Miss Fairchild will you be my friend?”
She gave him a startled glance that, however, soon settled into a mellow radiant look of sympathy and pleasure.
“That is asking for something which if I hesitate to accord, it is because the word, ‘friend,’ carries with it so much,” said she, with a sweet seriousness that disarmed her words of any latent sting they might otherwise have contained.
“I know it,” he replied, “and I am very bold to ask it upon so slight an acquaintance; but life is short and real treasure is so scarce. You will not deny me, Miss Fairchild?” Then seeing her look down, hastily continued, “I have acquaintances by the score—friends who style themselves thus, by the dozen, but no friend. I want one; I want you for that one. Will you be it? I shall be jealous though, I warn you,” he went on, with a cropping out of his mirthful nature; “I shall not be pleased to observe the circle widened indefinitely. I shall want my own place and no one else in my place.”
“No one else can fill the place once given to a friend. Each one has his own niche.”
“And I am to have mine?” His look was firm, his eye steadfast.
“Yes,” she breathed.
With a proud stooping of his head, he took her hand and kissed it. The action became him; he was tall and well made, and gallantry induced by feeling, sat well upon him. In spite of herself, she thought of old-time stories of the Norse chivalry; he stood so radiant and bent so low.
“I shall prize my friend at her queenly value,” said he; and without more ado, uttered his farewell and took his departure.
“Paula!”
The young girl started from a reverie which had held her for a long time enchained at that fast darkening window, and hastily looking up, perceived her Aunt Belinda standing before her, with her eye fixed upon her face, with a kind but searching glance.
“Yes, aunt.”
“You have not told me who this Mr. Ensign is. In all the letters you wrote me you did not mention his name, I think.”
“No, aunt. The fact is, I did not meet him until a few days before I left, and then only for an evening, you might say.”
“Indeed! that one evening seems to have made its impression. Tell me something about him, Paula.”
“His own countenance speaks for him better than I can, aunt. He is good and he is kind; an honest young man, who need fear the eye of no one. He is wealthy, I am informed, and the son of highly respected parents. He was first presented to me by Miss Stuyvesant, whose friend he is, afterwards by Mr. Sylvester. His coming here was a surprise to me.”
Miss Belinda’s firm mouth, which had expanded at this dutiful response, twitched with a certain amused expression over this last announcement. Eying her niece with unrelenting inquiry, she pursued, “You have not been happy for the last few weeks, Paula. Our life seems narrow to you; you long to fly away to larger fields and more expansive skies.”
With a guilty droop of her head, Paula stole her hand into that of her aunt’s.
“I do not wonder,” continued Miss Belinda, still watching the flushing cheek and slightly troubled mouth of the lovely girl before her. “I once breathed other air myself, and know well what charms lie beyond these mountains. In giving you up for awhile, I gave you up forever, I fear.”
“No, no,” whispered the young girl, “I am always yours wherever I go. Not that I am going away,” she hastily murmured.
Her aunt smiled and gently stroked her niece’s hand. “When the time comes, I shall bid you God speed, Paula. I am no ogress to tie my dove’s wings to her nest.
