"Why mother!" said Hugh,--"it is Fleda's."
"Fleda's!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, snatching the Magazine again. "My dear child, I was not thinking in the least of what I was reading. Fleda's!--"
She read it over anew, with swimming eyes this time, and then clasped Fleda in her arms and gave her, not words, but the better reward of kisses and tears. They remained so a long time, even till Hugh left them; and then Fleda released from her aunt's embrace still crouched by her side with one arm in her lap.
They both sat thoughtfully looking into the fire till it had burnt itself out and nothing but a glowing bed of coals remained.
"That is an excellent young man!" said Mrs. Rossitur.
"Who?"
"Mr. Olmney. He sat with me some time after you had gone."
"So you said before," said Fleda, wondering at the troubled expression of her aunt's face.
"He made me wish," said Mrs. Rossitur hesitating,--"that I could be something different from what I am--I believe I should be a great deal happier"--
The last word was hardly spoken. Fleda rose to her knees and putting both arms about her aunt pressed face to face, with a clinging sympathy that told how very near her spirit was; while tears from the eyes of both fell without measure.