"Remain as long as you please, if my wife is willing."
After Hal left, I felt his studio marred by Mr. Benton's presence, for he had become a perfect torture to me, and I began to believe he delighted in it, secretly. Then again, I had the room to attend to, and I must in consequence be annoyed. Of this I was tired, and when day after day passed and brought no word from Louis, save in common with the rest, I said, hopelessly:
"Let it go. I will try to love no one but father and mother and Clara and Hal, and oh, dear! when shall I ever be ready to say, 'Now Clara, let me help you'?"
She said to me through these days I was not happy. "Wild flower, what troubles thee?" one day, and again, "Emily, my royal Emily, art thou sighing for wings?"
November came and passed, and the gates of the new year were opening, still all the way lay dark before me. Night after night my tear-stained pillow told my sorrow mutely, and day after day I sighed. Mother was not well, and I felt that everything was wrong. I was worrying myself sick, I knew, and could not help it.
It was a cold, bitter day, and in my heart lay bitter thoughts when Matthias came over to tell us, that "Peg was right sick, 'pears like she's done took sick all in a minit, onions and onions, mustard and mustard, an nothin' don't do no good. Here's a piece of paper I foun' in de road, 'pears like you mus' want it," and he handed it to me.
I put it in my pocket and went to ask Aunt Hildy what to do for Aunt Peg. She proposed to go over, and Ben went with her.
While they were gone I read the paper, which proved to be a letter, evidently written to Mr. Benton, and the signature was plainly, "your heart-broken Mary," I could only pick out half sentences, but read enough to show me the treachery and sorrow, aye, more, a life cursed with shame, and at the hands of Wilmur Benton.
"Thank God," I cried aloud—I was in the sitting-room alone—and then tears fell hot and fast, and I sobbed and cried as if I had found a wide white path that led from the night of my discontent, out into the morning of the day called peace. I could not stay there and cry, I must pass Clara's door to go to my room, and throwing a shawl over my shoulders I rushed out, and fairly flew over the frozen ground to that dear old apple tree. What a strange place to go to, standing under those bare limbs, or rather walking to and fro, but I could not help it! This same old tree had heard my cries and seen my tears for years. I covered my face with both hands, and wept aloud. I could not have been there long, when I felt a presence, and Louis was beside me.
Putting an arm around me, he said tenderly, "Come in, Emily."