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"Really, Miss Scudder, this ought to be kept for her wedding-dress," said Miss Prissy, as she delightedly bustled about the congenial task. "I was up to Miss Marvyn's, a-working, last week," she said, as she threw the dress over Mary's head, "and she said that James expected to make his fortune in that voyage, and come home and settle down."
Marvyn to Mary, opening an adjoining door into her bedroom, and drawing her in with a sort of suppressed vehemence, "I want you! I must have you!" "Mrs. Marvyn's state alarms me," said her husband, looking apprehensively after her when the door was closed; "she has not shed any tears, nor slept any, since she heard this news.
We have fought for it, and the Lord of Hosts has been with us; and can we stand before Him with our foot upon our brother's neck?" A generous, upright nature is always more sensitive to blame than another, sensitive in proportion to the amount of its reverence for good, and Mr. Marvyn's face flushed, his eye kindled, and his compressed respiration showed how deeply the subject moved him. Mrs.
But here the sound of busy, pattering footsteps is heard on the old, creaking staircase, and soon the bows of Miss Prissy's bonnet part the folds of the boudoir drapery, and her merry, May-day face looks in. "Well, really, Mary, how do you do, to be sure? You wonder to see me, don't you? but I thought I must just run in, a minute, on my way up to Miss Marvyn's.
The sudden shock of these scenes was followed, in Mrs. Marvyn's case, by a low, lingering fever. Her room was darkened, and she lay on her bed, a pale, suffering form, with scarcely the ability to raise her hand.
Mary was by nature of the class who never reason abstractly, whose intellections all begin in the heart, which sends them colored with its warm life-tint to the brain. Her perceptions of the same subjects were as different from Mrs. Marvyn's as his who revels only in color from his who is busy with the dry details of mere outline. The one mind was arranged like a map, and the other like a picture.
She held a special theological conversation with the Abbe, whether salvation were possible to one outside of the True Church, and had added to her daily prayer a particular invocation to the Virgin for him. The French lessons, with her assistance, proceeded prosperously. She became an inmate in Mrs. Marvyn's family also.
First love of womanhood is something wonderful and mysterious, but in this second love it rises again, idealized and refined; she loves the father and herself united and made one in this young heir of life and hope. Such was Mrs. Marvyn's still intense, passionate love for her son.
Zebedee Marvyn's farm-wagon, stored with barrels, boxes, and baskets, over which Candace sat throned triumphant, her black face and yellow-striped turban glowing in the fresh morning with a hearty, joyous light, as she pulled up the reins, and shouted to the horse to stop with a voice that might have done credit to any man living. "Dear me, if there isn't Candace!" said Mary.
In one was coffee, which she was burning, stirring vigorously with a pudding-stick, and in the other, puffy dough-nuts, in shapes of rings, hearts, and marvellous twists, which Candace had such a special proclivity for making, that Mrs. Marvyn's table and closets never knew an intermission of their presence. "Candace, the Doctor wishes to see you," said Mrs. Marvyn.
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