But the
boy, awed by the difference of their social position, kept his
secret, as he thought, to himself; dreaming, as youth will, of the
day when fame and wealth would bridge the gulf between them. The
kind look in her eyes, the occasional seeming pressure of her hand,
he allowed to feed his hopes; and on the morning of his departure for
London an incident occurred that changed his vague imaginings to set
resolve. He had sent on his scanty baggage by the carrier, intending
to walk the three miles to the station. It was early in the morning,
and he had not expected to meet a soul. But a mile from the village
he overtook her. She was reading a book, but she made no pretence
that the meeting was accidental, leaving him to form what conclusions
he would. She walked with him some distance, and he told her of his
plans and hopes; and she answered him quite simply that she should
always remember him, always be more glad than she could tell to hear
of his success. Near the end of the lane they parted, she wishing
him in that low sweet woman's voice of hers all things good. He
turned, a little farther on, and found that she had also turned. She
waved her hand to him, smiling. And through the long day's journey
and through many days to come there remained with him that picture of
her, bringing with it the scent of the pine-woods: her white hand
waving to him, her sweet eyes smiling wistfully.
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