However, now, as before, I covered up the wound with a smiling face, and went about my business. I had been making extensive improvements on my farm, and kept out all day often, over-seeing the laborers. One night, a soft, starlight evening in late May, I came home very tired, and, being quite alone, sat down on the portico to watch the stars and think. I had not been long there, when a man's step came up the avenue, and some person, I could not tell who in the darkness, opened the gate, and came slowly up towards me. I rose, and bade him good-evening. "Is it you, Rachel?" he said, quite faintly. It was his voice. Thank Heaven for the darkness! The hand I gave him might tremble, but my face should betray nothing. I invited him into the parlor, and rang for lights. "He's come to see about selling the old house," I thought; there was a report that he would sell it by auction. When the lights came, he looked eagerly at me. "Am I much changed?" I said, with a half-bitter smile. "Not so much as I," he answered, sighing and looking down;--he seemed to be in deep thought for a moment. He was much changed. His hair was turning gray; his face was thin, with a subdued expression I had never expected to see him wear. He must have suffered greatly; and, as I looked, my heart began to melt. That would not do; and besides, what was the need of pity, when he had consoled himself? I asked some ordinary question about his journey, and led him into a conversation on foreign travel. The evening passed away as it might with two strangers, and he rose to go, with a grave face and manner as cold as mine,--for I had been very cold. I followed him to the door, and asked how long he stayed at Huntsville. Only a part of the next day, he said; his child could not be left any longer; but he wished very much to see me, and so had contrived to get a few days. "Indeed!" I said. "You honor me. Your Huntsville friends scarcely expected to be remembered so long." "They have not done me justice, then," he said, quietly. "I seem to have the warmest recollection of any. Good-night, Miss Mead. I shall not be likely to see you again." He gave me his hand, but it was very cold, and I let it slip as coldly from mine. He went down the gravel-walk slowly and heavily, and he certainly sighed as he closed the gate. Could I give him up thus? "Down pride! You have held sway long enough! I must part more kindly, or die!" I ran down the gravel-walk and overtook him in the avenue. He stopped as I came up, and turned to meet me. "Forgive me," I said, breathlessly. "I could not part with old friends so, after wishing so much for them." He took both my hands in his. "Have you wished for me, Rachel?" he said, tenderly. "I thought you would scarcely have treated a stranger with so little kindness." "I was afraid to be warmer," I said. "Afraid of what?" he asked. My mouth was unsealed. "Are you to be married?" I asked. "I have no such expectation," he answered.