“I’m not betraying anyone’s confidence,” persisted he; “and I can’t help but have a care for you. Not that you need it, or anybody’s. You can take care of yourself if any man or woman can. Every time your foot touches the ground it says so as plain as words. That’s what first caught my fancy. You haven’t got to have somebody to take care of you. O Josephine! that’s just why I want to take care of you so bad! I can take care of myself, and I used to like to do it; I was just that selfish and small; but love’s widened me. I can take care of myself; but, oh! what satisfaction is there in it? Is there any? Now, I ask you! It may do for you, for you’re worth taking care of; but I want to take care of something I needn’t be ashamed to love!” He softly stole her hand as they went. She let it stay, yet looked away from him, up through the darkling branches, and distressfully shook her head.
“Don’t, Josephine!—don’t do that. I want you to take care of me. You could do better, I know, if love wasn’t the count; but when it comes to loving you, I’m the edition deloox! I know you’ve an aspiring nature, but so have I; and I believe with you to love and you loving me, and counselling and guiding me, I could climb high. O Josephine! it isn’t this poor Tarbox I’m asking you to give yourself to; it’s the Tarbox that is to be; it’s the coming Tarbox! Why, it’s even a good business move! If it wasn’t I wouldn’t say a word! You know I can, and will take the very best care of every thing you’ve got; and I know you’ll take the same of mine. It’s a good move, every way. Why, here’s every thing just fixed for it! Listen to the mocking-bird! See him yonder, just at the right of the stile. See! O Josephine! don’t you see he isn’t
‘Still singing where the weeping willow waves’?
he’s on the myrtle; the myrtle, Josephine, and the crape-myrtle at that!—widowhood unwidowed!—Now he’s on the fence—but he’ll not stay there,—and you mustn’t either!” The suitor smiled at his own ludicrousness, yet for all that looked beseechingly in earnest. He stood still again, continuing to hold her hand. She stole a furtive glance here and there for possible spectators. He smiled again.
“You don’t see anybody; the world waives its claim.” But there was such distress in her face that his smile passed away, and he made a new effort to accommodate his suit to her mood. “Josephine, there’s no eye on us except it’s overhead. Tell me this; if he that was yours until ten years ago was looking down now and could speak to us, don’t you believe he’d say yes?”
“Oh! I dunno. Not to-day! Not dis day!” The widow’s eyes met his gaze of tender inquiry and then sank to the ground. She shook her head mournfully. “Naw, naw; not dis day. ’Tis to-day ’Thanase was kill’!”
Mr. Tarbox relaxed his grasp and Zoséphine’s hand escaped. She never had betrayed to him so much distress as filled her face now. “De man what kill’ him git away! You t’ink I git marrie’ while dat man alive? Ho-o-o! You t’ink I let Marguerite see me do dat! Ah! naw!” She waved him away and turned to leave the spot, but he pressed after, and she paused once more. A new possibility lighted his eyes. He said eagerly:
“Describe the man to me. Describe him. How tall was he? How old would he be now? Did they try to catch him? Did you hear me talking yesterday about a man? Is there any picture of him? Have you got one? Yes, you have; it’s in your pocket now with your hand on it. Let me see it.”
“Ah! I di’n’ want you to see dat!”
“No, I don’t suppose, as far as you know yourself, you did.” He received it from her, and with his eyes still on her, continued: “No, but you knew that if I got a ghost of a chance, I’d see you alone. You knew what I’d ask you;—yes, you did, Josephine, and you put this thing into your pocket to make it easier to say no.”