"Come here, Martin," said Johanna; "we wish to consult you on a subject of great importance to us all."
I drew up a chair opposite to them, and sat down, much as if it was about to be a medical consultation. I felt almost as if I must feel somebody's pulse, and look at somebody's tongue.
"It is nearly eight months since your poor dear mother died," remarked Johanna.
Eight months! Yes; and no one knew what those eight months had been to me—how desolate! how empty!
"You recollect," continued Johanna, "how her heart was set on your marriage with Julia, and the promise you both made to her on her death-bed?"
"Yes," I answered, bending forward and pressing Julia's hand, "I remember every word."
There was a minute's silence after this; and I waited in some wonder as to what this prelude was leading to.
"Martin," asked Johanna, in a solemn tone, "are you forgetting Olivia?"
"No," I said, dropping Julia's hand as the image of Olivia flashed across me reproachfully, "not at all. What would you have me say? She is as dear to me at this moment as she ever was."
"I thought you would say so," she replied; "I did not think yours was a love that would quickly pass away, if it ever does. There are men who can love with the constancy of a woman. Do you know any thing of her?"