Apparently, Cornelia did not find this answer as clear as it was brief. She wrote in reply a long, heroic epistle of eight pages, announcing her willingness to sacrifice her parents’ wishes, her friends’ approval, her lover’s happiness, and her own peace of mind, all to fidelity and Marguerite, if the latter required the offering!
Marguerite read this letter with more impatience than the others, and drawing a sheet of paper before her, wrote, “Nellie! Do as you like, else I’ll make you—Marguerite.”
In two weeks back came the answer, a pleading, crying letter, of twelve pages, the pith of which was that Nellie would do only as Marguerite liked, and that she wanted more explicit directions.
“Pish! tush! pshaw!” exclaimed Miss De Lancie, tapping her foot with impatience, as she read page after page of all this twaddle, and finally casting the whole into the fire, she took her pen and wrote, “Cornelia! marry Colonel Houston forthwith before I compel you—Marguerite.”
A few days from the dispatch of this letter arrived the answer, brought by an express-mounted messenger in advance of the mail. It was a thick packet of many closely-written pages, the concentrated essence of which was that Nellie would follow the advice of Marguerite, whom she loved and honored more than any one else in the world, yes, more than mother and father and lover together; that Marguerite must never wrong her by doubting this, or above all, by being jealous of the colonel, for indeed, after all, Nellie did not like him inordinately; how could she when he was a widower past thirty with two children? And finally, that she would not venture to ask Miss De Lancie to be her bridesmaid, for that would be like requesting a queen to attend her maid of honor in such a capacity; but would Marguerite, her dear Lady Marguerite, come and preside over the marriage of her poor little Nellie?
Miss De Lancie sat, for a long time, holding this letter open in her hand, moralizing upon its contents. “The little simpleton—is she only timid, or is she insincere? which after all means—is she weak or wicked? foolish or knavish? And above all, why am I fond of her? why have her brown eyes and her cut of countenance such power to draw and knit my heart to hers?—for indeed though to superficial eyes, hers may be a countenance resplendent with feeling, strong in thought, yet it is a cheat, without depth, without earnestness—let it be said!—without soul. Ay, truly! seeing all this, why do I love her? Because of the ‘strong necessity of loving’ somebody, or something, I suppose,” thought Marguerite, sinking deeper into reverie. These sparks of light elicited by the strokes of Cornelia’s steel-like policy upon the flint of Marguerite’s sound integrity, thus revealed, by flashes, the true character of the former to the latter; but the effect was always transient, passing away with the cause.
Miss De Lancie took up the letter and re-read it, with comments as—“I jealous of her lover! truly! I preside over her marriage! Come, I must answer that!” And drawing writing materials before her, she wrote, briefly as before.
“I would see you in Gehenna first, you little imbecile. Marguerite.”
And sealed and dispatched the letter.
This brought Nellie down in person to Plover’s Point, where by dint of caressing, and coaxing, and weeping, she prevailed with Marguerite, who at last exclaimed: