As Cranfield walked down the street of the village thelevel sunbeams threw his shadow far before him， and hefancied that， as his shadow walked among distant objects，so had there been a presentiment stalking in advance ofhim throughout his life. And when he drew near eachobject over which his tall shadow had preceded him，still it proved to be one of the familiar recollections ofhis infancy and youth. Every crook in the pathway wasremembered. Even the more transitory characteristics ofthe scene were the same as in by-gone days. A company ofcows were grazing on the grassy roadside， and refreshedhim with their fragrant breath. “It is sweeter，” thought he，“than the perfume which was wafted to our ship from theSpice Islands.” The round little figure of a child rolled froma doorway and lay laughing almost beneath Cranfield’sfeet. The dark and stately man stooped down， and， liftingthe infant， restored him to his mother’s arms. “Thechildren，” said he to himself， and sighed and smiled— “thechildren are to be my charge.” And while a flow of naturalfeeling gushed like a well-spring in his heart he came to adwelling which he could nowise forbear to enter. A sweetvoice which seemed to come from a deep and tender soulwas warbling a plaintive little air within. He bent his headand passed through the lowly door. As his foot soundedupon the threshold a young woman advanced from thedusky interior of the house， at first hastily， and then witha more uncertain step， till they met face to face. Therewas a singular contrast in their two figures—he dark andpicturesque， one who had battled with the world， whomall suns had shone upon and whom all winds had blown ona varied course； she neat， comely and quiet—quiet even inher agitation—as if all her emotions had been subdued tothe peaceful tenor of her life. Yet their faces， all unlike asthey were， had an expression that seemed not so alien—aglow of kindred feeling flashing upward anew from halfextinguishedembers.
“You are welcome home，” said Faith Egerton.
But Cranfield did not immediately answer， for his eyehad， been caught by an ornament in the shape of a heartwhich Faith wore as a brooch upon her bosom. Thematerial was the ordinary white quartz， and he recollectedhaving himself shaped it out of one of those Indianarrowheads which are so often found in the ancient hauntsof the red men. It was precisely on the pattern of thatworn by the visionary maid. When Cranfield departed onhis shadowy search， he had bestowed this brooch， in a goldsetting， as a parting gift to Faith Egerton.
“So， Faith， you have kept the heart？” said he， at length.
“Yes，” said she， blushing deeply； then， more gayly， “Andwhat else have you brought me from beyond the sea？”
“Faith，” replied Ralph Cranfield， uttering the fatedwords by an uncontrollable impulse， “I have brought younothing but a heavy heart. May I rest its weight on you？”
“This token which I have worn so long，” said Faith，laying her tremulous finger on the heart， “is the assurancethat you may.”
“Faith， Faith！” cried Cranfield， clasping her in his arms；“you have interpreted my wild and weary dream！”
Yes， the wild dreamer was awake at last. To find themysterious treasure he was to till the earth around hismother’s dwelling and reap its products； instead of warlikecommand or regal or religious sway， he was to rule overthe village children； and now the visionary maid had fadedfrom his fancy， and in her place he saw the playmate of hischildhood.
Would all who cherish such wild wishes but look aroundthem， they would oftenest find their sphere of duty， ofprosperity and happiness， within those precincts and inthat station where Providence itself has cast their lot.
Happy they who read the riddle without a weary worldsearchor a lifetime spent in vain！