There was an old Broadwood grand piano in the room where she
sat, covered with a pile of old music--Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Haydn,
and all the composers whose music Miss Sabina disliked. This music had
belonged to Fred's mother, a fair and unfortunate creature, whose own
story I shall some day write. Miss Sabina's performances upon the
pianoforte were limited to such compositions as the "Canary Birds'
Quadrilles," "My Heart is Over the Sea," etc., which she never played at
all now. But she looked at the old piano, and recalled her
sister-in-law's pretty baby looks and tragic end, and prophesied evil
for Fred. Jacob Hurst laughed the whole business to scorn. The one being
in Shenton who could have genuinely rejoiced at Fred's success knew
nothing about it.
Nancy's thoughts were constantly with him, however, and when her work
ended for the day, and she walked homeward across the hills to Braley
Brook, she connected many an inanimate object she passed with some look
or word of his. These looks and words had always been so kind, so
gentle, that as the brook, where the forget-me-nots grew in summer, or
the bank in the hollow where the primroses grew thickest in spring, or
the fallen tree, which, as the weeks passed, would become golden with
moss and lichen again--as all these would awaken to summer sunshine and
gladness;--so would her heart. Fred's love for her--she felt sure he had
loved her--was only hidden away like the flowers under the snow, to
bloom forth again in spring.
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