God was on her side, supreme, beneficent, watchful in little
things, as He has been on the side of all fervent hearts since the
beginning of time.
But after her return to Uplands in midsummer she suffered a peculiar
restlessness from the tranquil August weather. The long white road
irritated her with its aspect of listless patience, and at times she wanted
to push back the crowding hills and leave the horizon open to her view.
When a squadron of cavalry swept along the turnpike her heart would follow
it like a bird while she leaned, with straining eyes, against a great white
column. Then, as the last rider was blotted out into the landscape, she
would clasp her hands and walk rapidly up and down between the lilacs. It
was all waiting--waiting--waiting--nothing else.
"Something must happen, mamma, or I shall go mad," she said one day,
breaking in upon Mrs. Ambler as she sorted a heap of old letters in the
library.
"But what? What?" asked Virginia from the shadow of the window seat.
"Surely you don't want a battle, Betty?"
Mrs. Ambler shuddered.
"Don't tempt Providence, dear," she said seriously, untying a faded ribbon
about a piece of old parchment. "Be grateful for just this calm and go out
for a walk. You might take this pitcher of flaxseed tea to Floretta's
cabin, if you've nothing else to do. Ask how the baby is to-day, and tell
her to keep the red flannel warm on its chest."
Betty went into the hall after her bonnet and came back for the pitcher.
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