But he did not believe that she would cling to this idea of perpetual spinsterhood for any length of time. As for Miss Vicky, she thought Sophy mad to have thought of such a thing, and took her roundly to task.
"A woman ought to marry," she said, breaking through the barriers of her ordinary primness. "Do you think, if my darling had lived, I should now be a wretched old maid? No, indeed! It would have been my delight to have been an obedient and loving wife to Edward."
"I'm sure I wish he had lived!" cried Sophy, embracing her; "and I won't have you call yourself crabbed. You are the sweetest, dearest woman in the world!"
"So poor Edward thought," sighed Miss Vicky, fingering the precious brooch which always decorated some portion of her small person. "Alas the day! How often he told me so! But he died for his country on the field of glory," she cried, with a thrill of pride; "and in spite of my lonely old age, I don't grudge his precious blood. Noble--noble Edward!" and she wept.
"Don't cry any more, Vicky."
"It's your obstinacy I'm crying at, Sophia. If your poor dear pa's remains are not found within a certain time, marry Mr. Thorold and be happy."
"I can't--I won't. How can I be happy knowing poor father isn't at rest?"
"His soul is at rest--the earthly tabernacle is nothing. Come, Sophia, don't break with your life's happiness!"
"Alan and I understand one another, Vicky. I dare say we shall marry some day. But the body must be found."
"Lord grant it!" ejaculated Miss Vicky piously, and said no more. For she found that the more she argued the more obstinate Sophy grew.