calamity befallen upon the anxious, waiting heart. It descends as a thunderclap, or instils comfort like the dew. Whose pulse does not throb one beat quicker per minute, when, at critical moments, the red-winged Mercury of modern days appears in the midst!
The doctor read, and leaped from his lounge; thrusting his fingers through his hair, he read again.
The wife looked over his shoulder, saying, "May I see?"
The daughters peered over the other and timidly asked, "May we look?"
The men stood by inquiringly. "Wondering what the deuce it all meant," as Tom explained afterwards.
Like cloud-shadows and sunshine across an April landscape, variations of expression swept over the faces of the readers. Visions of sorrow and of joy, of wonderment and anticipation were cast upon each eager countenance. All this in a second.
"I never expected that," cried the doctor at length. "Poor old fellow! Right at last! Not as bad as we thought him. Who is?"
The women were looking one to another, then out of the window—to weep and to smile, seeing through a thin veil of tears a long vista of promise and of opportunity; peopled by each with the objects nearest their hearts. Under the trees of her vision, Maud saw children playing, strong men working as they smiled, women spinning as they sang. Beneath their leafy shades mother and elder daughter beheld processions and pageants, as of cloth-of-gold, fairy trains, the Festival of all the Fashions, themselves set at the vista end, receiving the adulations of gorgeous throngs!
"May we see?" asked little Tom, recognizing that the telegram was of general interest.
