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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Tom left me," he said, "when they began to fire bullets at my Hat." Vesta's female instinct had already found the explanation of Wonnell's death. From the moment of knowing her husband, his fatal hat had been the shadow across her life's path.
The girl belonged to her mother's estate: suppose Allan McLane was the administrator of it? Suppose, indeed, he was the heir? Vesta's heart fell, as she considered that a woman had best let business alone. The young bride-mourner was an object of mingled admiration and sympathy as she leaned on the arm of a kinsman and entered the Presbyterian kirk.
Miss Vesta's quiet face showed a little trouble. "Mr. Shelley's poetry," she said, hesitatingly, "is very beautiful. He was some one I once knew was devoted to Mr. Shelley's poetry. He used to read it to me. But Sister Phoebe thought Mr. Shelley's religious views were a not what one would wish, and she objected to my following the study." "He wrote about moths, too," said Geoffrey, abstractedly.
The Judge, whose eyes were filled with happy tears, partly at the real relief to his circumstances accomplished by Vesta's great sacrifice, and partly by the scene just closed, of her natural honor and fidelity to the man who had forced her wedding vows from her, took the northern course and crossed the little bridge, and as he went up the hill the environs of the town and the town itself spread out behind him in the stillness of the Sabbath, and the quails and fall birds piped and cackled low in the corn and the grain stubble.
William is trying to love Uncle Meshach like a good Christian, but, Aunt Vesta, he thinks more of your little toe than of my whole body." The crimson color came to Vesta's cheeks so unwillingly, so mountingly, that she felt ashamed of it, and, in place of anger, that many wives so exposed would have shown, she shed some quiet tears. "Rhoda, don't you know I am your uncle's wife."
"Will you come in and wait," she asked, "or leave a message?" "Wal, I guess I won't do neither this time!" said Mr. Butters, slowly. Vesta looked at him in some perplexity; he returned a glance of grave meaning. "You kin to him?" asked the old man. "Sister, or cousin, mebbe?" "No! what is it? something has happened to Doctor Strong!" Vesta's hand tightened on the rail of the steps.
After that, as time went on and she began to know his habits, she became more bold although bold is scarcely the word to use in connection with Jennie. She became venturesome much as a mouse might; she would risk Vesta's presence on the assurance of even short absences two or three days.
She looked up at the lamp in the window. Geoffrey's eyes followed hers. Involuntarily he laid his hand on hers. "Dear Miss Vesta!" he said, and his strong, hearty voice could be very gentle. "Miss Blyth told me. Does it still hurt, dear lady?" Miss Vesta's breath fluttered for a moment, but it was only a moment.
She heard the words several times repeated by him: "I will come soon, darling!" and the simplicity of his devotion to her, unloved as he was, had such flavor of pathos in it that the tears started to Vesta's eyes. "Poor soul!" she said, "it will be long before I can love him. There, his hunger must be enduring. But my duty is not the less clear to stay by his side and nurse him, as his wife."
William Tilghman, during the continuation of this colloquy, looked with interest on the two young ladies: Vesta, the elder by two or three years, and richly endowed with the lights of both beauty and accomplishments; the maid from the ocean side, plainer, and with no ornament within or without; but he could foresee, under Vesta's fostering, a graceful woman, with coquetry and fascination not wholly latent there; and, as his eyes met Rhoda's, he interpreted the look that at a certain time of life almost every maiden casts on meeting a young man "Is he single?"
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