Then, when the man frowns, and clenches his hand against the hostile fate pressing upon him, the child only weeps, and endeavors to avoid the suffering.

Redbud suffered no little.  She loved Verty very sincerely as the playmate of her earlier years, and the confidential friend of her happiest hours.  The feeling which was ripening in her heart had not yet revealed itself, and she felt that the barrier now raised between herself and the young man was cruel.  But, then, suddenly, she would recollect Miss Lavinia’s words, recall that warning, that they both would suffer—­and so poor Redbud was very unhappy—­very much confused—­not at all like herself.

We have said very little of this child’s character, preferring rather to let the current of our narrative reflect her pure features from its surface, as it flowed on through those old border days which were illustrated and adorned by the soft music of her voice, the kindness of her smile.  Perhaps, however, this is a favorable occasion to lay before the reader what was written by a poor pen, in after years, about the child, by one who had loved, and been rendered purer by her.  Some one, no matter who, had said to him one day—­“Tell me about little Redbud, whom you praise so much”—­and he had taken his pen and written—­

“How can I?  There are some figures that cannot be painted, as there are some melodies which cannot be uttered by the softest wind which ever swept the harp of Aeolus.  You can scarcely delineate a star, and the glories of the sunset die away, and live not upon canvas.  How difficult, then, the task you have imposed upon me, amigo mio—­to seal up in a wicker flask that moonlight; chain down, by words, that flitting and almost imperceptible perfume—­to tell you anything about that music which, embodied in a material form, was known as Redbud!

“Observe how I linger on the threshold, and strive to evade what I have promised to perform.  What can I say of the little friend who made so many of my hours pure sunshine?  She was the most graceful creature I have ever seen, I think, and surely merrier lips and eyes were never seen—­eyes very blue and soft—­hair golden, and flowing like sunset on her shoulders—­a mouth which had a charming archness in it—­and withal an innocence and modesty which made one purer.  These were the first traits of the child, she was scarcely more, which struck a stranger.  But she grew in beauty as you conversed with her.  She had the most delightful voice I have ever heard—­the kindest and most tender smile; and one could not long be in her company without feeling that good fortune had at last thrown him with one of those pure beings which seem to be sent down to the earth, from time to time, to show us, poor work-a-day mortals, that there are scales of existence, links as it were, between the inhabitants of this world and the angels:  for the heavenly goodness, which sent into the circle which I lived in such a pure ray of the dawn, to verify and illumine the pathway of my life—­thanks—­thanks!