"A paragraph, 'The Times'
Had published, when the accident took place,
Mentioned that Kenrick was a millionnaire,
Though quite a young man still.
"A month went by
And he was able to sit up awhile;
And soon, with me beside him in the carriage,
To take a drive;—when one day, Percival
Said to me: 'Mary, you and I must try
The span to-day; our patient shall keep house.'
My heart beat wildly; Kenrick looked as if
Approving the arrangement; so we went.
'I wished,' said Percival, 'to talk with you
In private; do not answer if I put
Questions that may embarrass or annoy;
It is no idle curiosity,
Prompting me now. We see that you were born
To something better than this drudgery:
If not reluctant, tell me who you are.'
'O, willingly!' I said.
"And so I told him
All, from the first. He heard me patiently;
And then remarked: 'But do you never long
For that secure and easy life at home?
You will go back to Liverpool, perchance,
When you've had quite enough of servitude
And toil precarious.'—'I go not back,'
Said I, 'while health and liberty are left.
The home that's grudged is not the home for me.
Give me but love, and like the reed I yield;
Deal with me harshly, you may break, not bend me.'
'Ah! there is something wrong in all these things,'
Replied he, musing.
"'Yes,' I said; 'consider
What I've been telling of my mother's way
Of marrying her daughters; well, my mother
Is but the product of that social system,
Hollow and false, which leaves for dowerless girls
Few honorable outlooks for support
Excepting marriage.[2] Poor, dependent, helpless,
Untaught in any craft that could be made
To yield emolument,—our average women,—
What can they do but take the common path
Which my poor mother would have made me try,
And lead some honest man to think that they
Are wedding him, and not his bank-account?
Let woman, equally with man, be bred
To learn with thoroughness some craft or trade
By which she may support herself at least,
You place her more at liberty to shun
Unions, no priest, no church can sanctify!'[3]
"Percival eyed me with a puzzled look,
Then said: 'The time is on its way, I hope,
When from her thraldom woman will come forth,
And in her own hands take her own redress;
When laws disabling her shall not be made
Under the cowardly, untested plea
That man is better qualified than woman
To estimate her needs and do her justice.
Justice to her shall be to man advancement;
And woman's wit can best heal woman's wrongs.
Accelerate that time, all women true
To their own sex,—yet not so much to that
As to themselves and all the human race!
But pardon me; I wander from the point,—
Following you. Now tell me, could you make
America your home?'
"The sudden question
Made my heart leap, and the hot crimson rush
Up to my brow. Silent I bowed my head,
And he continued thus: 'If it should be,
That one, not wholly alien to your tastes,—
A man not quite so young as you, perhaps,
But not beyond his prime,—an honest man,—
I will not say with ample means, for that
Would jar upon your heart,—one who could make
Your home a plentiful and happy one,—
Should offer you his hand,—would it deter you
To know that in America your lot
Must henceforth be?'
"My breath came quick,—my eyes
Turned swift away, lest he should mark their joy
And count his prize too cheaply won. I sighed,
But did not speak. 'May I go on?' he asked.
A 'yes' distinct, though faint, flew from my lips.
'May I,' said he, 'tell Kenrick he may hope?'
'What!' cried I, looking up, with something fiercer
Than mere chagrin in my unguarded frown."
Linda broke in upon the story here,
And turning to her father with a smile
Tender as dawning light, yet arch and gay,
Cried, "Fie, my father! Could you be so dull?
How could you treat my future mother so?"
"Nay, do not blame me hastily," said he,
With glad paternal eyes regarding her;
"How could a modest man—and I was one—
Suppose that youth and wealth, and gracious gifts
Of person, such as Kenrick wore so well,
Could fail to win? Truly I did not dream,
Spite of the proverb, Love could be so blind."
Tossing her head with mock vindictive air,
Like sweet sixteen, the mother then resumed:
"Kenrick, it seems, being a bashful man,—
And somewhat shy, perhaps, because I knew
He was but recently in mad pursuit
Of an unfaithful spouse, a runaway,
Commissioned Percival to try the ground,
Obscure and doubtful, of my woman's will.
My absolute 'What!' was unequivocal.
Then turning to the coachman, Percival,
Said, 'Home, now, home! and quickly!'
"Home we rattled,
And both were silent to our journey's end.
An eager glance he gave me as he touched
My hand to help me from the carriage. He
Has told me since that I returned the look
With one which, if not actually scorn,
Was next of kin to scorn, and much resembling:—
All the chimera of his guilty conscience.