"Mary Snow is good enough for you, Hal. I have always liked her so much, but how stupid I am, never to have dreamed of this."
"No?" said he, as if surprised. "Never dreamed of it? Do you think it strange that I should tell you, Emily? I have seen the time when it would seem very silly to me, but I have learned to realize how great is the tie that binds us, and I hope through all the years you and I will never be apart. I ask of you, too, one promise. Do not tell even Clara, and if ever you have such a secret, tell me frankly, for we should love each other, and our joys should be mutual."
I said not a word, but I thought of Louis, and I longed to show him the chain and locket, which I constantly wore, but I could not, and I have wished since that I might have been wiser. At this moment Mr. Benton entered, and our position did not escape him.
"Truly, Hal," he said, "you make a capital picture. Courting, eh?"
"Call it that if you please; we are very near in spirit, thanks to the Father."
The thought of work came over me, and I left them to help about getting supper. To be in Hal's confidence and to feel the trust he reposed in me had made me very happy. Precious indeed did this seem to me, and if all brothers and sisters were as near, how much of evil would be averted. Young men might find at home the love and society they need, and less temptation and fewer penalties to pay would be the good result.
Mother's absence was nearly at an end, and father had gone on Saturday to Aunt Phebe's to spend the Sabbath, and was to bring mother back on Monday.
Sabbath evening Hal went over to Deacon Snow's, Clara was in her room writing to Louis, Ben reading in the kitchen, and I was left with Mr. Benton in Hal's room. This night was never to be forgotten, for although from time to time I had been forced to notice the great change in his manner toward me, I was unprepared for what occurred, and unconscious that he had so misunderstood and perverted my motives in that fated talk. I cannot tell you all he said, nor how he said it, but I was thoroughly confused and startled by his protestations, and could only say:
"Mr. Benton, I do not desire to hear this; I cannot understand it; you have been mistaken," etc.
To all of which he replied as if deeply pained, and I believed in his sorrow and despised myself. I could not and did not tell him of Louis, for when I thought of it, it seemed too sacred, and he had no right to this knowledge. I was overwhelmed with strange and unpleasant feelings; there was no satisfaction in the thought of having heard these declarations; it was an experience I would fain have avoided. His talk to Clara, too, came to my aid, and rallying a little, I said: