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Updated: May 4, 2025
"I could not convince myself that such was the case, but Wilmur Benton gave me so to understand said you were a coy damsel but a glorious girl, and would make a splendid wife 'just such as I need, he said, 'congratulate me. "When, Louis, did he say this?" "The night of our walk; and it was this instead of the picture he talked of." "You were cruel not to tell me," I said.
A glance at Clara caused me to exclaim: "Wilmur Benton painted them." "Yes, both," he replied. "Are they not beautiful?" "Mine is not, I am sure, Louis; but your mother's, oh, how lovely it is, and as natural as life! It must be the one to which Mary referred." "It is, my Emily. I secured it long ago, and Mr. Benton has been a long time at work on yours.
It was years since Wilmur Benton left us, and the picture represented me at my present age, I thought, and I asked: "How did he get the expression, Louis?" "Oh, Emily, he remembered every outline of your face, and with the greatest ease defined them!
Leagues on leagues of solitude lie, Dun and dreary between us now, And in my heart is a terrible cry, With clamps of iron across my brow. Never again the olden light Ever the sickly, dreadful pall; I am alone here in the night, Wilmur and misery, that is all!
Then the tears came and I sat with my face buried in my hands, and cried like a child. A hand touched me, an arm crept round me, "Hal," I said, starting. "No," said Wilmur Benton in his sweeter tone, "It is I." "Oh!" I screamed almost, making an attempt to rise, but his arm held me firmly as he said: "Forgive me, Miss Minot, if I have caused you pain I spoke harshly, I fear."
Although a pain and wonder filled my heart for a moment, I knew if Clara wished me to divine her feelings she would explain herself, and her silence left me to my own conjectures. I said to myself "Some thought of the past has come over her," for I could not see how the stay of Wilmur Benton could affect her happiness.
Oh! how she loved me as I swept The master strings of her spirit's lyre! Oh! with what brooding tenderness Our low words died in her father's hall, In the meeting clasp, and parting press Wilmur and Mary, that was all!
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