The mind of man can only form a just idea of a cause when the
effect has been made manifest to his understanding. There might have
been a reason for the death of Mary Wolston--who knows? But if it were
so, that reason was beyond the pale of mortal ken.
Let us not, however, anticipate. Mary Wolston is not yet dead. On the
contrary, when the ninth day of her illness had passed, Fritz and Jack
were returning from an expedition, the nature of which was only known
to themselves, but which, to judge from the packs that they bore on
their backs, had been tolerably productive. The two young men observed
their mother advancing, as usual, to meet them, but this time _she
ran_. They had no need to be told in words that Mary Wolston was now
out of danger; the serenity of their mother's countenance was more
eloquent than the most elaborate discourse that ever stirred human
souls.
Mrs. Becker herself felt that words were superfluous, so she quietly
took her son's arm, and they walked gently homewards, whilst Jack
strode on before. On turning a corner of the road, the latter stumbled
upon Wolston and Ernest, who, in the exuberance of their joy, had also
come out to meet the hunters. They were, however, a little behind; but
that was nothing new. These two members of the colony had become quite
remarkable for procrastination and absence of mind.
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