I need not say that I went at once. As I approached the old manor house a
thousand memories knocked at the door of my heart. There were the fields
over which I had rambled; there was the emerald lawn where so often I had
wandered in the long-gone days of earlier years. The great oak against
which I had leaned on that evening to watch the sun in his setting, and
where Annie had whispered and pointed to my torn elbow, still raised its
head proudly, and embowered the old gables in the bright-tinted foliage of
autumn.

I entered. The old portraits I had loved seemed to smile; they saluted me
sweetly, as in other hours; the old mansion appeared to welcome me--I saw
no change, but Annie was not singing in the hall.

All at once I heard a light tinkling footstep; my heart beat violently,
and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. Was the queenly woman who came to
meet and greet me, indeed the Annie of old days? I held the small hand,
and looked into the deep eyes for some moments without uttering a word.
She was taller, more slender, but her carriage possessed a grace and
elegance a thousand times finer than before. Her eyes were filled with the
strangest sweetness, and swam with tears as she gazed at me.

"Papa has been waiting impatiently for you, Mr. Cleave," she said, in a
low, sad voice; "will you come up and see him at once? he is very ill."

And turning away her head, the fair girl burst into uncontrollable sobs,
every one of which went to my heart. I begged her earnestly not to yield
to her distress, and she soon dried her eyes, and led the way into the
parlor, where I was received by Mrs. Barrington, still cold and stiff, but
much more subdued and courteous. Annie went to announce my arrival to her