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Updated: July 26, 2025
In other respects it was its own master; but one can become tired even of that. The written paper the last farewell from the bridegroom to his bride would only bring deep sorrow if it ever reached the proper hands. But where were these hands, that had looked so white when they spread the tablecloth on the fresh grass in the green wood on the betrothal-day? Where was the furrier's daughter?
He didn't see the resentful eyes which Elizabeth fixed upon him for these words, and she sat for a long while afterwards out in the kitchen with her hands in her lap, silent and angry, thinking over them. A resolution was forming in her mind. Before they retired to rest, Carl whispered to her "I have written to my father to-day, and to-morrow, Elizabeth, is our betrothal-day!"
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