"
"And wilt not say what causeth this vexation? Thou knowest, Mark, that
there are none in this dwelling--nay, I am certain, I might add in this
valley, that do not wish thee happiness."
"'Tis kind to say it, good Martha--but, thou never hadst a sister!"
"'Tis true, I am all of my race; and yet to me it seemeth that no tie of
blood could have been nearer than the love I bore to her who is lost."
"Nor mother! Thou never knew'st what 'tis to reverence a parent."
"And is not thy mother mine?" answered a voice that was deeply melancholy,
and yet so soft that it caused the young man to gaze intently at his
companion, for a moment, ere he again spoke.
"True, true," he said hurriedly. "Thou must and dost love her who hath
nursed thy infancy, and brought thee, with care and tenderness, to so fair
and happy a womanhood." The eye of Martha grew brighter, and the color of
her healthful cheek deepened, as Mark unconsciously uttered this
commendation of her appearance; but as she shrunk, with female
sensitiveness, from his observation, the change was unnoticed, and he
continued: "Thou seest that my mother is drooping, hourly, under this
sorrow for our little Ruth; and who can say what may be the end of a grief
that endureth so long?"
"'Tis true that there hath been reason to fear much in her behalf; but, of
late, hope hath gotten the better of apprehension.
Pages:
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478