Having arrived at this conclusion, Verty went along smiling, and admiring the splendid tints of the foliage--drinking in the fresh, breezy air of morning, and occasionally listening for the cries of game--of deer, and turkey, pheasants, and the rest. He heard with his quick ear many of these sounds: the still croak of the turkey, the drumming of the pheasant; more than once saw disappear on a distant hill, like a flying shadow, the fallow deer, which he had so often chased and shot. But on that morning he could not leave his path to follow the wild deer, or slay the lesser game, of which the copses were full. Mastered by a greater passion even than hunting, Verty drew near Apple Orchard--making signs with his head to the deer to go on their way, and wholly oblivious of pheasants. He reached Apple Orchard just as the sun soared redly up above the distant forest; and the old homestead waked up with it. Morning always smiled on Apple Orchard, and the brilliant flush seemed, there, more brilliant still; while all the happy breezes flying over it seemed to regret their destiny which led them far away to other clouds. Verty always stopped for a moment on his way to and from Winchester, to bid the inmates good morning; and these hours had come to be the bright sunny spots in days otherwise full of no little languor. For when was Daymon merry and light-hearted, separated from his love? It is still the bright moment of meeting which swallows up all other thoughts--around which the musing heart clusters all its joy and hope--which is looked forward to and dreamed over, with longing, dreamy, yet excited happiness. And this is the reason why the most fatal blow which the young heart can suffer is a sudden warning that there must be no more meetings. No more! when it dreams of and clings to that thought of meeting, as the life and vital blood of to-morrow!--when the heart is liquid--the eyes moist with tenderness--the warp of thought woven of golden thread--at such a moment for the blow of the wave to fall, and drown the precious argosy with all its freight of love, and hope, and memory--this is the supreme agony of youth, the last and most refined of tortures. Verty lived in the thought of meeting Redbud--his days were full of her; but the hours he passed at Apple Orchard were the brightest. The noonday culminated at dawn and sunset! As he approached the pleasant homestead now, his eyes lighted up, and his face beamed with smiles. Redbud was standing in the porch waiting for him. She was clad with her usual simplicity, and smiled gently as he approached. Verty threw the bundle upon Cloud's mane, and came to her. They scarcely interchanged a word, but the hand of the girl was imprisoned in his own; and the tenderness which had been slowly gathering for months into love, pure, and deep, and strong, flushed his ingenuous face, and made his eyes swim in tears.