‘Perhaps it may be something of a trial at first.’
Mary looked at her mother with incredulous blue eyes. The idea that feelings which made her hold her breath when she thought of them could be so summarily disposed of, struck her as almost an absurdity. She turned her face weariedly to the wall with a deep sigh, and said,
‘After all, mother, it is mercy enough and comfort enough to think that he is living. Poor cousin Ellen, too, what a relief to her! it is like life from the dead. Oh! I shall be happy enough, no fear of that.’
‘And you know,’ said Mrs. Scudder, ‘that there has never existed any engagement of any kind between you and James. He had no right to found any expectations on anything you ever told him.’
‘That is true also, mother,’ said Mary; ‘I had never thought of such a thing as marriage in relation to James.’
‘Of course,’ pursued Mrs. Scudder, ‘he will always be to you as a near friend.’
Mary assented wearily.
‘There is but a week now before your wedding,’ continued Mrs. Scudder, ‘and I think cousin James, if he is reasonable, will see the propriety of your mind being kept as quiet as possible. I heard the news this afternoon in town,’ pursued Mrs. Scudder, ‘from Captain Staunton, and, by a curious coincidence, I received this letter from him from James, which came from New York by post. The brig that brought it must have been delayed out of the harbour.’
‘Oh, please mother, give it to me!’ said Mary, rising up with animation; ‘he mentioned having sent me one.’