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Updated: May 3, 2025
This general movement caused Pepeeta to turn, and she observed a sudden transformation on the countenance of the dove-like Quaker maiden. A flush mantled her pale cheek and a radiance beamed in her mild blue eyes. It was a tell-tale look, and Pepeeta, who divined its meaning, smiled sympathetically.
"Well, little wife," he said, "how is b-b-business?" "Fair," she said, gathering up a double hand-full of change and passing it over to him indifferently. The question fell upon the ears of the Quaker like a thunder bolt. It was to him the first intimation that Pepeeta was not the daughter of the quack. "His wife!" The heart of the youth sank in his bosom.
Plaintive bird songs were heard from the treetops, and among them those of the mourning dove, whose solemn, funereal note sent shudders through the heart of the trembling fugitive. But all had gone successfully so far, and he actually began to cherish hope that he would escape detection. There still remained, however, the uneasy fear that Pepeeta herself had been a witness of the deed.
With unerring prescience, he saw that it began to be entangled in the mysterious meshes. A consciousness that he was no longer the master but the victim of his destiny seized him and he shuddered. Pepeeta perceived the shudder through the arm which embraced her. "You are cold, my love," she said. "My joy has made me tremble," he replied.
The quack had coarsened with the passing years, but Pepeeta, withdrawing into the sanctuary of her soul, living a life of vague dreams and half-conscious aspirations after something, she knew not what, had grown even more gentle and submissive. As she did not yet comprehend life, she did not protest against its injustice or its incongruity.
I will stay with them for a while, and when I am tired can leave them without any entanglements." When the situation had been regarded for a little while from this point of view, he felt happier and more care-free than for weeks. He solaced his disappointment with the reflection that he should still be near Pepeeta, but no longer in any danger.
He proceeded towards the carriage; but Pepeeta seemed rooted to the ground, and David was equally incapable of motion. While they stood thus, gazing into each other's eyes, they saw nothing and they saw all. That brief glance was freighted with destiny. A subtle communication had taken place between them, although they had not spoken; for the eye has a language of its own.
The two strangers, so different in manners and dress, joined the straggling procession which crept slowly along the road and chatted to each other in undertones. "What queer people," said Pepeeta. "Beat the Dutch, and you know who the D-d-dutch beat!" "What sort of a building is that they are going into?" "That's a church." "What is a church for?" "Ask the marines!
Is not everything comprehended in that single word? It is all-embracing as the air! It enfolds life as the sky enfolds the world!" "Ah! Pepeeta, you loved me when we parted, but you did not forgive me!" She dropped her eyes. "Have you forgiven me now?" "It is not true that I did not forgive you," she replied, looking up at his face again.
Pepeeta nestled down among the roots of a great beech tree, her hat flung upon the ground by her side, her arms folded across her bosom, her face upturned like a flower drinking in the sunshine or the rain.
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