At the Time Appointed

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.