"Why, what do you know of her? Did you ever meet her before?" asked Grace.
"No, I have never met her, but I have met some one who has," said Sedgwick.
"O, tell me all about it!" said Grace.
"Why, child," Sedgwick said, "that is the lady who went to Texas and taught school one season, who set the honest heart of Tom Jordan on fire, and burned it half to ashes, made him sell his home because he was so wretched, and finally, with my help, or through my fault, set him to running a tunnel to a mine in Southern Africa, among the Boers and Kaffirs."
"Do you believe that can be true?" asked Grace.
"I know it," said the confident man. "The description an the singing tally, and the name is the same. Tom says her singing would make a lark, out of envy, 'fall outer a tree'."
"Upon my soul!" said Grace, and then lapsed into silence.
"What are you thinking of, sweet?" asked Sedgwick, after a pause.
"I was thinking what accidents our lives hang upon," she said. "O, love, suppose you had not fancied me at all, what would have become of me?"
"And suppose you had, when I did fancy you and you knew my heart was in the dust at your feet, that the touch of the hem of your robe upon me thrilled me like old wine; suppose then I had pleaded for your love, and though you felt it was mine and intended to give it to me, still had refused me; might you not be singing, Could you come back to me, Douglas, in tones to break any one's heart who might hear you?"