Van Berg was on the piazza when she came down, but she passed him
swiftly, giving him no time to speak to her, and springing into the
phaeton, drove away. His anxiety was so deep that he took pains to
note the road she took, and then waited impatiently for her return.
After driving several miles, and making a few inquiries by the
way, Ida found herself approaching an old-fashioned house secluded
among the hills.
It was on a shady side road, into which but few eddies from the
turbulent current of worldly life found their way.
The gate stood hospitably open, and she drove in under the shade of
an enormous silver poplar, whose leaves fluttered in the breathless
summer air, as if each one possessed a separate life of its own.
As she drew near to the house she saw old Mr. Eltinge coming from
his garden to greet her.
"I had about given you up," he said, "and so you are doubly welcome.
Old people are like children, and don't bear disappointments very
well."
"Did you really want to see me very much?" Ida asked, as he assisted
her to alight.
"Yes, my child," he replied, gravely, holding her hand in a strong,
warm grasp. "I felt, from your manner last evening, you were
sincere.
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