Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/137

 ladies were walking up the hill and the maid was on the ground, with her back towards me, taking something from the carriage: A moment after, she turned round, and I knew her. It was Cassy, — it was my wife.

I sprang forward and caught her in my arms. She recognized me at the same moment; and uttering a cry of surprise and pleasure, she would have fallen had I not supported her. She recovered herself directly, and bade me let her go, for she had been sent back for her mistress's fan, and she must make haste and carry it to her. She told me to wait though, for if she could get leave, she would come back again immediately. She tripped up the hill, and overtook her mistress. I could see, by her gestures, the eagerness with which she urged her request: It was granted, and in a moment she was again at my side. Again I pressed her to my bosom, and again she returned my embrace. Once more I felt what it was to be happy. I took her by the hand, and led her to a little wood, on the opposite side of the road. Here was a thick young growth, where we could sit, screened from observation. We sat down upon a fallen tree; and while I held her hands fast locked in mine, we asked and answered a thousand questions.

The first emotions and agitation of our meeting over, Cassy required of me a detailed narrative of my adventures since our separation. With what a kindling eye and heaving bosom did she listen to my story; at every painful incident of it, the fast flowing tears chasing each other down her cheeks, now pale,. now flushed; at every gleam of ease or comfort, a tender, joyous, sympathizing smile beaming upon me, breathing new life into my soul! You who have loved as we loved, — you who have parted as we parted, with no hope ever to meet again, — you who have met as we met, brought together by accident or by Providence, — you, and only you, may imagine the emotions that swelled my heart as I pressed the hand, and felt the presence, and basked