Gilbert interrupted her words by clasping her in his arms. “Martha!” he exclaimed, “your heart points out the true way because it is true to the core! In these things a woman sees clearer than a man; when I am with you only, I seem to have proper courage and independence—I am twice myself! Won't you let me claim you—take you—soon? My mother loves you; she will welcome you as my wife, and will your father still stand between us?”
Martha smiled. “My father is a man of strong will,” she said, “and it is hard for him to admit that his judgment was wrong. We must give him a little time,—not urge, not seem to triumph, spare his pride, and trust to his returning sense of what is right. You might claim reparation, Gilbert, for his cruel words; I could not forbid you; but after so much strife let there be peace, if possible.”
“It is at least beyond his power,” Gilbert replied, “to accuse me of sordid motives. As I said before, Martha, give up your legacy, if need be, but come to me!”
“As I said before, Gilbert, the legacy is honestly mine, and I will come to you with it in my hands.”
Then they both began to smile, but it was a conflict of purpose which drew them nearer together, in both senses,—an emulation of unselfish love, which was compromised by clasping arms and silent lips.
There was a sudden noise in the back part of the house. A shrill voice was heard, exclaiming,—“I will—I will! don't hold me!”—the door burst open, and Sally Fairthorn whirled into the room, with the skirt of her gown torn loose, on one side, from the body. Behind her followed Miss Lavender, in a state of mingled amusement and anger.
Sally kissed Martha, then Gilbert, then threw an arm around the neck of each, crying and laughing hysterically: “O Martha! O Gilbert! you'll be married first,—I said it,—but Mark and I must be your bridesmaids; don't laugh, you know what I mean; and Betsy wouldn't have me break in upon you; but I waited half an hour, and then off, up here, she after me, and we're both out o' breath! Did ever, ever such a thing happen!”
“You crazy thing!” cried Miss Lavender. “No, such a thing never happened, and wouldn't ha' happened this time, if I'd ha' been a little quicker on my legs; but never mind, it serves me right; you two are to blame, for why need I trouble my head furder about ye? There's cases, they say, where two's company, and three's overmuch; but you may fix it for yourselves next time, and welcome; and there's one bit o' wisdom I've got by it,—foller true-lovyers, and they'll wear your feet off, and then want you to go on the stumps!”
“We won't relieve you yet, Betsy,” said Gilbert; “will we, Martha? The good work you've done for us isn't finished.”
“Isn't finished. Well, you'll gi' me time to make my will, first. How long d' ye expect me to last, at this rate? Is my bones brass and my flesh locus'-wood? Am I like a tortle, that goes around the fields a hundred years?”