CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE DOUBLE CONFESSION.
Ask her not why her heart has lost its lightness,
And hoards its dreamy thoughts, serenely still,
Like some pure lotus flower, that folds its whiteness
Upon the bosom of its native rill!
"Mary Fuller, what ails you? All this time your eyes are heavy, and you look every other minute as if just going to cry. What is it all about?"
This was a long speech for aunt Hannah, and it made Mary start and blush like a guilty thing, especially as it followed a protracted silence that had been disturbed only by the click of aunt Hannah's knitting-needles.
"Matter with me, aunt? Nothing. What makes you think of me at all?"
"Because it is my duty to think of you. Because there is need that some one should take care of you."
"Of me?" said Mary, blushing to the temples, "what have I done, aunt?"
"What everything of womankind must do, sooner or later, I suppose, my poor girl."
"What is that, dear aunt?" faltered the girl.