Chapter XXI

"And I did love thee, when so oft we met
In the sweet evenings of that summer-time,
Whose pleasant memory lingers with me yet,
As the remembrance of a better clime
Might haunt a fallen angel. And O, thou--
Thou who didst turn away and seek to bind
Thy heart from breaking--thou hast felt e'er now
A heart like thine o'ermastereth the mind;
Affection's power is stronger than thy will.
Ah, thou didst love me, and thou lovst me still!"

Annie's foot was on the stairs to descend to the drawing-room, on the following evening, when she heard the old doctor's voice in the hall, exclaiming, in tones of loud, hearty welcome,

"Why, bless my eyes! Frank Sheldon, my boy, do I behold you at last? And to come upon me in this unexpected manner! I've a mind to throw this orange at your head."

"Do so, sir, if you choose; but first hear my apology for this unceremonious surprise. Business brought me----"

"I won't hear a word about an apology," interrupted the doctor, bestowing a hearty slap on his young friend's shoulder. "Come in, boy, come in;" and the doors of the drawing-room opened and closed after them.

Annie ran back to her apartment in a flutter of emotion. "Sheldon there! and he came from _that office_! Business brought him,--what would come of it all?" She dared not hope or anticipate. She dared not think at all; and, throwing her graceful form on a sofa, she commenced tearing some water-color paintings she had lately been executing, into strips, and twisting them into gas-lighters.

Meantime Sheldon was snugly bestowed in a cushioned seat beside his good friend, the doctor, who was plying him with a thousand questions concerning his affairs, prospects, etc. After he had become satisfied on these points, he recollected Sheldon had mentioned some business as the cause of his sudden visit.

"What was it you said about business bringing you so unexpectedly?" he inquired. "So, I would not have enjoyed this pleasure had inclination alone biased your feelings!"

"You wrong me, sir," returned Sheldon, "by such an insinuation. I would have visited you in the summer, in any event. I merely intended to say business hurried my arrival. Our magazine, several months ago, issued a set of prizes for the best poem and tale. The articles have been received, and I commissioned to award the authoress, who, it appears, is a resident of your city."

"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Then we've a literary genius among us. What is her name?"

"She writes under a _nomme de plume_."

"And what is that?"

"Woodland Winnie."

The good doctor sprang to his feet with such remarkable quickness as to overturn the tray of oranges on the stand beside him, and they went rolling over the carpet in all directions, while he clapped his hands and roared again and again with convulsing laughter. Sheldon was dumb-founded.

"Good!" exclaimed the doctor, in a tone of gleeful chuckling. "Ha, ha, ha! I declare I shall die a laughing. So cunning, the witch,--never to tell me!"

"Do you know the lady?" asked Sheldon in amaze, gazing on his friend's extravagant demonstrations of mirth and joy.

"Better and better!" roared the doctor. "Do I know her? Yes; she has been an inmate of my mansion for the last _six_ months. Why, boy, she is an angel;--as gifted, as beautiful, and as good as all the beauty and genius put together. She has warmed my old heart and filled my house with sunshine."

"You will do me a great favor to introduce your humble servant to this paragon of excellence."

"Exactly! I'll do it all in good time; but take another orange, man!" he said, extending the empty tray to Sheldon. "Zounds! where are they gone?" he exclaimed, perceiving the dish to be vacant. "Have I eaten them all?"

Sheldon could not forbear laughing now, as he informed the doctor of his accident, which called forth another burst of merriment.

"Well, you want to see this lady?" he said, when it had subsided. "I'll bring her to you in a jiffy;" and the gleeful doctor departed on his errand.

Sheldon paced the floor uneasily during his absence; but he was not kept long in waiting. He soon heard steps descending the stairs and, whirling a chair so as to give him but a side view of the entrance, sat down to await their coming. The doors slid open, and he became aware of a light, graceful figure, in a dark, crimson robe, leaning on the doctor's arm, and approaching with fairy-like steps. The setting sun was throwing a flood of radiance through the heavy folds of purple damask, and filling the apartment with soft, dreamy light as they paused before him.

"I have the pleasure of presenting to you 'Woodland Winnie,' Mr. Sheldon," said the doctor.

Sheldon raised his dark eyes slowly to the lady's face, and there, in the genial light of that mild spring evening, stood Annie Evalyn. He started as if an electric shock had shot through his frame. She trembled and blushed, and the old doctor roared and shook with laughter at Sheldon's speechless surprise; but the latter soon recovered himself and greeted Annie with respectful cordiality, offering an apology for his surprise, by saying he was not prepared to behold a former acquaintance in the fair authoress. She returned his salutations with grace and ease, while the doctor continued to laugh immoderately. So pleased was the old gentleman with the part he had enacted in the scene, that he actually consumed twelve oranges, and despatched a servant for a fresh supply. Sheldon could not avoid stealing a glance at Annie as she sat on the sofa before him. The dark chestnut curls were lifted away from the expanding temples, and the delicate marble complexion, relieved by a just perceptible tinge of rose on either cheek; while the beautifully imaginative expression of the full blue eye, the curved lip and nostril speaking the free, dauntless spirit, and the exquisite contour of the light, graceful figure, yet somewhat taller and thinner than when he had last seen her, all conspired to assure him it was no timid, shrinking girl he beheld, but the lofty, talented, accomplished woman. Back came the old love and admiration ten-fold stronger than ever. The doctor went out to look after his oranges. There was a silence. It was growing oppressive. He rose and approached the sofa.

"I have erred, Annie," he said, in a low, mellow tone, fraught with deep sorrow and contrition.

"We are human, Frank," she answered, very softly.

It was not the words, but the tone, the manner, that convinced him he was forgiven. He sat down beside her, and there, in the deepening twilight of that spring evening, what a holy happiness was rising over the ruins of wickedness and crime! Who shall say how much holier, purer, and more elevated for the trying ordeal to which it had been subjected?