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"A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" cried the Corsican, clapping his hands. "Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," replied Ginevra, rather slowly. "What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!" cried her mother. "No!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution, "no! it shall never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie."
I believe you never were in love, and never will be: you don't know the feeling, and so much the better, for though you might have your own heart broken, no living heart will you ever break. Isn't it all true?" "A good deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd besides. There must be good in you, Ginevra, to speak so honestly; that snake, Zelie St. Pierre, could not utter what you have uttered.
The four were a year older, a year nearer trouble, and a year nearer getting out of it. Ginevra was more of a woman, Donal more of a poet, Nicie as nice and much the same, and Gibbie, if possible, more a foundling of the universe than ever.
He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her studio, coloring engravings. "Oh, Ginevra!" he cried. She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. "Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?" she said. "But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way," he answered.
"Wad ye no tak my airm, mem?" he said at length, summoning courage. "I jist fin' mysel' like a horse wi' a reyn brocken, gaein' by mysel' throu' the air this gait." Before he had finished the sentence Ginevra had accepted the offer. It was the first time. His arm trembled. He thought it was her hand. "Ye're no cauld, are ye, mem?" he said. "Not the least," she answered.
"But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. You will be doubly cherished by me and by him, by him who is my other self, by me who am all his." "Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!" cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; "why did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea?
When the time came to hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol of eternal union, that yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light for some, lead for most, the priest looked about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it was to perform that joyous function. Two of the witnesses fulfilled it for them.
If the young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed on Ginevra. "She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin. At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the group of aristocrats.
"Won't be Barbara Frietchie!" cried Leslie, with an astonishment as if it had been angelhood refused. "No. Barbara Frietchie is only an old woman in a cap and kerchief, and she just puts her head out of a window: the flag is the whole of it, Ginevra Thoresby says." "May I do it? Do you think I can be different enough in the two? Will there be time?" Leslie questioned eagerly.
"I do remember an insolent fellow taking advantage of the ruinous state the house was in to make his way into my study," said the laird. "And now," Ginevra continued, "Mr. Duff makes question of his wits because he finds him carrying a poor woman's children, going to get them a bed somewhere! If Mr.
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