Graham looked; two figures had just appeared from one of the
cross-roads, and walking slowly forward, had paused in front
of the cottage; they were Mr. Morris the curate and Maria
Leslie. The clergyman stood with his back to Graham and
Madelon, but they could see Maria with her handkerchief to her
eyes, apparently weeping bitterly. The curate was holding one
of her hands in both his, and so they stood together for a
moment, till he raised it to his lips. Then she pulled it away
vehemently, and burying her face completely in her
handkerchief, hurried off in a direction opposite to that by
which she had come. Mr. Morris stood gazing after her for a
moment, and then he also disappeared within the cottage.
This little scene passed so rapidly, that the two looking on
had hardly time to realize that they were looking on, before
it was all over. There was a sort of pause. Madelon gave one
glance to Graham, and turned away--then the children came
running up with their primroses. "Here are some for you, Uncle
Horace; Cousin Madelon, please may I put some in your hat?"
Madelon took off her hat, and stooped down to help Madge
arrange the flowers; she would not try to understand the
meaning of what they had just witnessed, nor to interpret
Monsieur Horace's look.
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