They could not return to Collingwood that night, and the evening
was spent in the private parlor which Arthur engaged for himself
and his blind friend. It was strange how fast they grew to liking
each other, and it was a pleasant sight to look at them as they
sat there in the warm firelight which the lateness of the season
made necessary to their comfort--the one softened and toned down
by affliction and the daily cross he was compelled to bear, the
other in the first flush of youth when the world lay all bright
before him and he had naught to do but enter the Elysian fields
and pluck the fairest flowers.
It was late when they separated, but at a comparatively early hour
the next morning they assembled again, this time to bid good-by,
for their paths hereafter lay in different directions.
"You must write to me, little metaphysics," said Arthur, as with
hat and shawl in hand he stood in the depot on the east side of
the Hudson.
"Yes," rejoined Richard, "she is to be my private amanuensis, and
shall let you know of our welfare, and now, I suppose, we must
go.
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