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Updated: May 16, 2025
"In two days she'll hate the ground you walk on, if she hasn't killed herself or you by that time." Waves of acute pain were pricking into Jessie's legs from the pink toes to the calves. She was massaging them to restore circulation and had to set her teeth to keep from crying. But her subconscious mind was wholly on what passed between the men.
"It means more or less wanting to do what you ought not to." "Oh, then," I said, "I am having temptation all the time; aren't you? For instance, I want to tear up Jean's altar-cloth, and rip Kirstie's ties, and tool bad words on Jessie's bindings, and burn Maggie's wood-boxes."
Mrs. Loring heard Mr. Dexter leave the house, and with expectation on tip-toe, waited for Jessie to join her in the sitting-room. But while she yet listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs below, her ears caught the light rustle of Jessie's garment as she glided along the passages and away to her own chamber. "Something has taken place!" said Mrs. Loring to herself.
He saw her emotion and with his usual tact changed the conversation to lighter subjects. Jessie's face grew brighter after that, and she chatted away unreservedly until it was time for her to leave. Just before she rose, Duncan lifted his old leather-bound Bible from the table and glanced at her timidly. "Would you be minding if I would read jist a word?" he inquired eagerly.
But with Jessie's going all prophecy would have remained unfulfilled. Scipio did not go under in the manner to have been expected of him. After the first shock, outwardly at least, there appeared to be no change in him. His apparently colorless personality drifted on in precisely the same amiable, inconsequent manner. What his moments of solitude were, only he knew.
I was dressing little Jessie's burns one morning, and talking to her cheerfully all the time, for she was a nervous little creature, when I heard his footstep outside. And the next instant he was standing beside us. His curt 'Good-morning; how is the patient, nurse? braced my faltering nerves in a moment, and enabled me to answer him without embarrassment.
Miss Mergle had told her at parting to live fearlessly and truly, and had further given her a volume of Emerson's Essays and Motley's "Dutch Republic," to help her through the rapids of adolescence. Jessie's feelings for her stepmother's household at Surbiton amounted to an active detestation.
Fortunately for the repose of Morgan, who, under other circumstances, would have discovered on the very first day that his airy retreat was by no means high enough to place him out of Jessie's reach, the idea of settling herself instantly in her new habitation excluded every other idea from the mind of our fair guest.
He had taught himself basket-making; and though, Jessie said, his work was very ingenious and clever, still there were but few customers for it in that neighbourhood. And, alas! even if Jessie's father would consent to give his daughter to the poor cripple, how could the poor cripple earn enough to maintain a wife?
As she sat the bowed head was just within his reach, and so he very naturally laid his hand upon it, and as if it had been Jessie's smoothed the silken hair, while he asked why she must go home. Had anything occurred to make her presence more necessary than it was at Aikenside? and into the young man's heart there crept a feeling that Aikenside would be very lonely without Maddy Clyde.
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