“Them young uns is sweethearts,” she said, in an aside to Miss Meeke, as she pointed to the youthful pair, who, seated on the cushioned sill of the bay window, were exchanging their last confidences. “Them young uns is sweethearts, as sure as you’re born. And why she didn’t choose him, instead of choosing my beat, beats me. But perhaps the match was made up all along of the old folks. Shouldn’t wonder. Not I! But if they are fond o’ one another, why, in the name o’ sense, can’t the knot be tied afore he goes to sea? They’d be a heaper better contented in parting from one another if they knowed that they belonged to each other, certain sure, no matter what might happen.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Meeke. “I think that they are lovers still. And I know that they were engaged to be married before he went to sea the first time, and they would have been married on his return from his first voyage if Col. Anglesea had not come between them. I betray no confidence in telling you this, for the whole county knows it well.”
“To be sure they do. Why, didn’t I hear all about it before ever I entered into this house? You just bet I did. But why she ever could have thrown over that fine young fellow for my old rascal is more than I can tell.”
“I suppose he fascinated her in some way,” suggested Natalie.
“You bet your pile on that. Lord! how that man could make love when he tried! Why, there was poor John, my first husband, poor, dear fellow!—that ever I should have forgot him so far as to take up with this furriner!—poor John, after keeping company with me for more’n a year, and never saying a word to me about love, or his heart, or anything, though we knew how it was with each other well enough, one summer Sunday night, when the moon was a-shining bright as day, he kind o’ loitered at the gate, and sort o’ kicked the gravel slowlike with his foot, and then said:
“‘Well, Marier, when hed I better speak to the ole man?’
“And I said: ‘Fust time you see him, John.’ And that was all. Every word of love-making that passed betwixt us two until we was married.”
“He was a plain, good, honest man,” put in Miss Meeke.
“You bet your pile on that! And you won’t lose nothing by it! He was a good, true man, and so I found him, else I shouldn’t a-followed of him all round the world, and out to Wild Cats’ Gulch! But as for this other fellow! Lord! Why, from the minute he made up his mind to marry and rob me, he did nothing but make love! Lord, how he could do it! Like a play-actor! Why, honey, one time he fell on his knees before me and looked up in my face in such a way! And what on earth can an ordinary ’oman do when a man goes down on his marrow bones and rolls up his eyes like a dying duck? She has to sort o’ give in to him whether she wants to or not! for fear he’d get worse, and have a fit, and do hisself a mischief of some sort! And all the time, dear, it wasn’t the poor Californy widow he was after; but her poor, dear, dead-and-gone husband’s pile, as he had made by the sweat of his brow, and lost his life in making, too! He fashionated me into marrying of him and trusting of him until he levanted with all my money! And he fashionated that young girl there until she throwed over her own true love for him! But his fashionations don’t last long after he is found out—that is one good thing! Leastways they didn’t with me, and they don’t seem to have done so with her. I come to my senses soon’s ever I found out as he had robbed me and run away. And she come to hers soon’s ever she found out he had a lawful wife living. But now that the grand vilyun is out of the way, and the young turtledoves has made it all up, why can’t they be married before he goes off to sea?” earnestly inquired the Californian lady.
“I wish to Heaven it might be done!” fervently exclaimed Natalie, who, in the happiness of her own love-life, felt a deep sympathy for the young pair in the bay window.