This young lady, whose beauty, goodness, wisdom, eloquence and powers of
persuasion were rumored to be almost miraculous, had founded schools and
asylums, and had collected by subscription a large amount of money, with
which she was coming to America, to select and purchase a tract of land
to settle a colony of the London poor. This angel girl's name and fame
was a low, sweet echo, as I said before--never noisy, never rising
high--keeping near the ground. People spoke of her in quiet places, and
dropped their voices to gentle tones in mentioning her and her works.
Such was the spell it exercised over them. This lady's name possessed
the strangest fascination for Thurston Willcoxen; he read eagerly
whatever was written of her; he listened with interest to whatever was
spoken of her. Her name! it was that of his loved and lost Marian!--that
in itself was a spell, but that was not the greatest charm--her
character resembled that of his Marian!
"How like my Marian?" would often be the language of his heart, when
hearing of her deeds. "Even so would my Marian have done--had she been
born to fortune, as this lady was."
The name was certainly common enough, yet the similarity of both names
and natures inclined him to the opinion that this angel-woman must be
some distant and more fortunate relative of his own lost Marian.
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