It was on one of those glorious October days, when every breath quickens
the blood and when simply to live is a joy unspeakable, that Darrell
first walked abroad into the outdoor world. Several times during his
convalescence he had sunned himself on the balcony opening from his
room, or when able to go downstairs had paced feebly up and down the
verandas, but of late his strength had returned rapidly, so that now,
accompanied by his physician, he was walking back and forth over the
gravelled driveway under the pine-trees, his step gaining firmness with
every turn.
Seated on the veranda were Mr. Underwood and his sister, the one with
his pipe and newspaper, the other with her knitting; but the newspaper
had slipped unheeded to the floor, and though Mrs. Dean's skilful
fingers did not slacken their work for an instant, yet her eyes, like
her brother's, were fastened upon Darrell, and a shade of pity might
have been detected in the look of each, which the occasion at first
sight hardly seemed to warrant.
"Poor fellow!" said Mr. Underwood, at length; "it's hard for a young man
to be handicapped like that!"
"Yes," assented his sister, "and he takes it hard, too, though he
doesn't say much. I can't bear to look in his eyes sometimes, they look
so sort of pleading and helpless."
"Takes it hard!" reiterated Mr. Underwood; "why shouldn't he. I'm
satisfied that he is a young man of unusual ability, who had a bright
future before him, and I tell you, Marcia, it's pretty hard for him to
wake up and find it all rubbed off the slate!"
"Well," said Mrs. Dean, with a sigh, "everybody has to carry their own
burdens, but there's a look on his face when he thinks nobody sees him
that makes me wish I could help him carry his, though I don't suppose
anybody can, for that matter; it isn't anything that anybody feels like
saying much about."
"I'm glad Jack is coming," said Mr. Underwood, after a pause; "he may do
him some good. He has a way of getting at those things that you and I
haven't, Marcia."
"Yes, he's seen trouble himself, though nobody knows what it was."
Notwithstanding the tide of returning vitality was fast restoring tissue
and muscle to Darrell's wasted limbs and firmness and elasticity to his
step, it was yet evident to a close observer that some undercurrent of
suffering was doing its work day by day; sprinkling the dark hair with
gleams of silver, tracing faint lines in the face hitherto untouched by
care, working its subtle, mysterious changes.