A deep sigh was the only answer. The violent throbbings of her heart could be seen undulating the long hair as the moaning sea tosses the rockweed.
‘My daughter!’ again said Mrs. Scudder.
Mary gave a great sigh, like that of a sleeper awakening from a dream, and looking on her mother, said: ‘Do you suppose he really loves me, mother?’
‘Indeed he does, Mary, as much as man ever loved woman.’
‘Does he indeed?’ said Mary, relapsing into thoughtfulness.
‘And you love him, do you not?’ said her mother.
‘Oh yes, I love him!’
‘You love him better than any man in the world, don’t you?’
‘Oh, mother, mother! yes!’ said Mary, throwing herself passionately forward, and bursting into sobs; ‘yes, there is no one else now that I love better,—no one,—no one!’