Once Edward made some allusion to a farm which his father had promised to give him when he settled for life, and spoke of the kind of house he intended to build, asking Jane’s opinion.
She answered abruptly that she was tired of farming and hard work of all kinds; indeed, she hoped the time would come when she need not be obliged to live in a log-house, and spoil her hands by washing dishes from morning till night.
Young Clark looked a little surprised at this sudden outbreak of discontent, but laughingly told the spoiled beauty that she should have a two-story frame house, with glass windows in every room when his ship came in from the moon, and the Indians were all driven from Wyoming.
Jane was about to return some saucy reply, but that instant a shrill whistle came up from the river, which brought a torrent of crimson into her face, and she looked wistfully at the door without daring to approach it.
Mary understood it all, and her pure heart ached within her. She blushed even more deeply than her sister; and when Jane attempted to speak carelessly of night birds which roosted on the island, her face grew troubled, like that of an angel who sees a beloved companion ready to fall.
Clark observed this embarrassment without suspecting its cause, while Mother Derwent droned on with her flax-wheel, and talked about the comfort of living upon an island where the wolves could only bark at you from the opposite shore, thus unconsciously aiding in her granddaughter’s deception.
After a time, Clark mentioned Walter Butler, and observed that he had seen him on the river that day; something in Jane’s manner seemed to excite his attention that moment, for he asked, a little suspiciously, if the young Tory had landed on the island.
Jane crimsoned to the temples again, but answered promptly, that she had not seen Mr. Butler in a week—that was, since her birthday.
This direct falsehood smote Mary to the heart; tears swelled to her eyes till she could hardly discern the beautiful face of her sister through the mist.
Filled with these unquiet thoughts, Mary went to her little bedroom, that she might weep and pray alone. As she closed the door, her sister was asking Edward Clark how far it was from Wyoming to Canada, and if all the handsome ladies there wore silk dresses and had hired people to wait on them?