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Updated: May 7, 2025
"If she'll consent, I'll take her to Europe," mused Carl Walraven. "It will be delightful to go over the old places with so fresh a companion as my sparkling little Cricket. But I'm not sure that she'll go she's a great deal to fond of young Ingelow. Well, he's a fine fellow, and I've no objection." Mr. Walraven's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Sardonyx.
"I have no home," said Mollie, mournfully. "I will stay here until she is buried. After that 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. You will help me, Mr. Ingelow?" looking piteously up. "I don't know what to do." "I will help you," he said, tenderly, "my poor little forlorn darling; but only on one condition that you will grant me a favor." "What?" looking at him wonderingly.
"I think I know the reason," responded Mr. Ingelow. "Rumor sets him down as the last in Miss Dane's list of killed and wounded." "So I have heard," said Mollie, coolly; "but it is too good to be true. I should dearly love to be my lady and live in a Welsh castle." "With sixty-five years and a hoary head for a husband?" "How painfully accurate you are!
I want something more than 'thank you' for all that." Mollie tried to laugh all in a flutter. "Name your price, then, sir. Though it were half my kingdom, you shall be paid." "And don't mind me, sir," suggested Mrs. Sharpe, demurely. "Ah! but I do mind you," said Mr. Ingelow; "and besides, the time for payment has not yet come. Doctor Oleander's little bill must be settled first.
As for Hugh Ingelow, you mustn't think of him now; it isn't proper in a respectable married woman to know there is another man in the scheme of the universe except her husband. Mollie! Mollie! if you scream in that manner you'll compel me to resort to chloroform a vulgar alternative, my dearest."
Be you there, likewise cloaked, bearded, bewigged. Have a carriage in waiting. Make her think you are Hugh Ingelow, and she will enter it without hesitation. Speak French. She will not recognize your voice. Once in the carriage, carry her off." "Where?" asked the doctor, astonished at the rapidity of all this. "To Long Island to the farm. She will be as safe there as in Sing Sing.
There is this distinction, and it is one of the most marked in lyric verse. Compare in English poetry, by way of illustration, the snatches of song in Shakspeare's plays with Shakspeare's sonnets; compare Burns with Gray; compare Jean Ingelow with Browning. Goethe's ballads have an undying popularity; they have been translated, and most of them are familiar to English readers....
Mollie cowered in a corner of the carriage, her pale face gleaming like a star above her black wraps, the bright blue eyes unutterably mournful. And Hugh Ingelow watched her with an indescribable expression in his fathomless eyes, and made no effort to console her. The sods rattled on the coffin-lid, the grave was filled up, and everybody was hurrying away out of the rain.
"Thanks, Ingelow" Mr. Walraven turned a grateful glance upon the lounging artist "and, meantime, gentlemen, let us adjourn to the drawing-room. Standing talking here I don't admire." He led the way; the others followed Sir Roger last of all, lost in a maze of bewilderment that utterly spoiled his joy at his bride's return. "What can it mean? What can it mean?" he kept perpetually asking himself.
What care I? I will have my revenge on the man I hate on the man who has wronged me beyond reparation. And then I can go away where no one will know me, and make my own way through the world, as I did before I ever came to New York." Hugh Ingelow looked at her. Her eyes were alight, her cheeks flushed, her whole face eager, angry, and aglow. "Wronged you beyond reparation!" he slowly repeated.
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