Blind -- Fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Love stories; Marriage -- Fiction; Mental illness -- Fiction
Then with the same forethought and careful consideration which
marked all his actions, Richard consulted with her as to the beat
time for her to start, fixing upon the 15th of October, and making
all his arrangements subservient to this. He did not tell her how
lonely he should be without her--how he should miss her merry
laugh, which, strange to say, grew merrier each day; but he let
her know in various ways how infinitely precious she was to him,
and more than once Edith felt constrained to give up the journey,
but the influences from Florida drew her strangely in that
direction, and revolving to pay Richard for his self-denial by an
increase of love when she should return, she busied herself with
her preparations until the 15th of October came, and her trunks
stood ready in the hall.
"If I could only read your letters myself, it would not seem one-
half so bad," Richard said, when at the last moment, he held
Edith's hand, "but there's a shadow over me this morning--a dark
presentiment that in suffering you to leave me I am losing you
forever."
Edith could not answer, she pitied him so much, and kissing his
lips, she put from her neck his clinging arms, wiped his tears
away, smoothed his ruffled hair, and then went out from his
presence, leaving him there in his sorrow and blindness alone.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SUNNYBANK.
"Berry soon, Miss, an' we're thar. We turns the corner yonder, we
drives 'cross the plain, down a hill, up anoder, an' then we's
mighty nigh a mile from the spot."
Such was the answer made by Tom, the Bernard coachman to Edith's
repeated inquiries, "Are we almost there."
For three successive days the Bernard carriage had been to
Tallahassee in quest of the expected guest, whose coming was
watched for so eagerly at Sunnybank, and who, as the bright
October afternoon was drawing to its close, looked eagerly out at
a huge old house which stood not very far distant with the setting
sun shining on the roof and illuminating all the upper windows. A
nearer approach showed it to be a large, square, wooden building,
divided in the centre by a wide, airy hall, and surrounded on
three sides by a verandah, the whole bearing a more modern look
than most of the country houses in Florida, for Mr. Bernard had
possessed considerable taste, and during his life had aimed at
fitting up his residence somewhat after the northern fashion. To
Edith there was something familiar about that old building, with
its handsome grounds, and she said aloud,
"I've surely dreamed of Sunnybank."
"Berry likely, Miss," answered Tom, thinking the remark addressed
to him, inasmuch as Edith's head protruded from the window.
"Dreams is mighty onsartin. Git 'long, you Bill, none o'yer lazy
carlicues, case don't yer mind thar's Mars'r Arthur on the
v'randy, squinting to see if I's fotched 'em," and removing his
old straw hat, Tom swung it three times around his head, that
being the signal he was to give if Edith were in the carriage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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