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Updated: May 25, 2025
Just as his wife was ready for dinner, and Grier had disappeared, George entered Letty's room. She was standing before a tall glass, putting the last touches to her dress smoothing here, pinning there, turning to this side and to that.
The reaction towards a natural reserve, a certain proud, instinctive self-defence, which had governed Marcella's manner during a great part of Letty's visit to the Court, had been in these letters deliberately broken down at first with effort, then more and more frankly, more and more sweetly.
The sole acknowledgment he made of her approach was to withdraw his foot from the stirrup and stand waiting. "You know something," he said, looking cold and hard in her face. "About what?" returned Mary, recovering herself; she was careful, for Letty's sake, to feel her way.
He would be ashamed of her, and she dared not think what might come of it! But close upon the postman came Mary, and a long talk followed. Letty was full of trembling delight, but Mary was not a little anxious with herself how Tom would take it. The first matter, however, was Letty's dress. She had no money, and seemed afraid to ask for any.
She began, much too soon, alas! to feel as if she were newborn; nothing worthy of being called a new birth can take place anywhere but in the will, and poor Letty's will was not yet old enough to give birth to anything; it scarcely, indeed, existed. The past was rapidly receding, that was all, and had begun to look dead, and as if it wanted only to be buried out of her sight.
So now, indeed, Letty's foot was in the snare: she had a secret with Tom. Every time she saw him, liberty had withdrawn a pace. There was no room for confession now. If a secret held be a burden, a secret shared is a fetter. But Tom's heart rejoiced within him. "Let me see! How old are you, Letty?" he asked gayly. "Eighteen past," she answered. "Then you are fit to judge for yourself.
They were in there at Mary's, the rooms full of little families, getting along as best they could, taking pride in their children, looking ahead, looking ahead and they would not know that he understood. He could not have defined offhand what it was that he understood. But it had, it seemed, something to do with Letty's account book and Bruce's baby....
As often as she seemed able, she would take her for a drive, or on the river, that the wind, like a sensible presence of God, might blow upon her, and give her fresh life to take home with her. So little progress did she make with Hesper, that she could not help thinking it must have been for Letty's sake she was allowed to go to London. Mr. and Mrs.
I never doubted she was dead; the name over the bed was not hers; the face was sadly altered from the happy, rosy one I knew, but it held me fast; and as I paused the eyes opened, Letty's own soft eyes, they saw me, and, as if I was the figure of a dream, she smiled, put up her arms and said, just as she used to say, a child, when I woke her in her little bed 'Why, Davy! I can't tell any more, only that when I brought her home and put her in mother's arms, I felt as if I was forgiven at last."
And Miss Letty's chillun, dey watches to-day for Uncle Bushrod when he come home ever' evenin'. I been a Weymouth, all 'cept in colour and entitlements. Both of us is old, Marse Robert. 'Tain't goin' to be long till we gwine to see Miss Lucy and has to give an account of our doin's. De ole nigger man won't be 'spected to say much mo' dan he done all he could by de fambly dat owned him.
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