"Plenty of sticks, Jasper, that it may burn up quickly," said Mrs. Hare,
in a pleading voice, as if the sticks were Jasper's and not hers.

Mrs. Hare got her fire, and she drew her chair in front, and put her
feet on the fender, to catch its warmth. Barbara, listless still, went
into the hall, took a woolen shawl from the stand there, threw it over
her shoulders, and went out. She strolled down the straight formal path,
and stood at the iron gate, looking over it into the public road. Not
very public in that spot, and at that hour, but as lonely as one could
wish. The night was calm and pleasant, though somewhat chilly for the
beginning of May, and the moon was getting high in the sky.

"When will he come home?" she murmured, as she leaned her head upon the
gate. "Oh, what would life be like without him? How miserable these few
days have been! I wonder what took him there! I wonder what is detaining
him! Corny said he was only gone for a day."

The faint echo of footsteps in the distance stole upon her ear, and
Barbara drew a little back, and hid herself under the shelter of the
trees, not choosing to be seen by any stray passer-by. But, as they drew
near, a sudden change came over her; her eyes lighted up, her
cheeks were dyed with crimson, and her veins tingled with excess of
rapture--for she knew those footsteps, and loved them, only too well.

Cautiously peeping over the gate again, she looked down the road. A tall
form, whose very height and strength bore a grace of which its owner was
unconscious, was advancing rapidly toward her from the direction of West
Lynne. Again she shrank away; true love is ever timid; and whatever may
have been Barbara Hare's other qualities, her love at least was true