“I can trust thee,—I DO love thee!”
They clasped each other's hands in one long, clinging pressure. No kiss was given, but side by side they walked slowly up the dewy meadows, in happy and hallowed silence. Asenath's face became troubled as the old farmhouse appeared through the trees.
“Father and mother must know of this, Richard,” said she. “I am afraid it may be a cross to them.”
The same fear had already visited his own mind, but he answered, cheerfully—
“I hope not. I think I have taken a new lease of life, and shall soon be strong enough to satisfy them. Besides, my father is in prosperous business.”
“It is not that,” she answered; “but thee is not one of us.”
It was growing dusk when they reached the house. In the dim candle-light Asenath's paleness was not remarked; and Richard's silence was attributed to fatigue.
The next morning the whole family attended meeting at the neighboring Quaker meeting-house, in the preparation for which, and the various special occupations of their “First-day” mornings, the unsuspecting parents overlooked that inevitable change in the faces of the lovers which they must otherwise have observed. After dinner, as Eli was taking a quiet walk in the garden, Richard Hilton approached him.
“Friend Mitchenor,” said he, “I should like to have some talk with thee.”
“What is it, Richard?” asked the old man, breaking off some pods from a seedling radish, and rubbing them in the palm of his hand.