"Don't!" cried Walter, catching his grandfather's arm. "I understand it all,—I know that I am poor, know what the world says of my father, and I will suffer through all time sooner than ask the bright-faced Jessie to share one iota of our shame. But were my father innocent, I would never rest until I made myself a name which even Jessie Graham would not despise, for I love her, grandpa,—love her better than my life," and as after this confession he could not look his grandfather in the face, he stared hard at the candle dying in its socket, as if he would fain read there some token that what he so much desired would one day come to pass.
And he did read it too, for with a last great effort the expiring flame sent up a flash of light, which shone on Walter's face and that of the gray-haired man regarding him with a look of tender pity. Then it passed away, and the darkness fell between them just as the old man said, mournfully:
"There is no hope, my boy,—no hope for you."
[CHAPTER VI.—OLD MRS. BARTOW.]
The good lady sat in her chamber wiping the perspiration from her ruddy face, and occasionally peering out into the pleasant street, with a longing desire to escape from her self-imposed prison, and breathe the air again in her accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it should be discovered that she was not away from home and enjoying some little pent-up room in the third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, too, she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the fresh, green grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie was really enjoying herself, without the trouble of dressing three times a day, and then swelling with vexation because some one else out-did her.
"If she don't come with William, I mean to go down there and see what this family are like that she makes such a fuss about," she said. "Marshall? Marshall? The name sounds familiar, but it isn't likely I ever knew them. If I supposed I had, I wouldn't stir a step."
At this point in her soliloquy a servant appeared, saying "Mr. Bellenger wished to see her," and putting in her teeth, for it tired her to wear them all the time, and adjusting her lace cap, the old lady went down to meet the young man, who had just returned from Deerwood. Numberless were the questions she asked concerning her granddaughter. Was she well? was she happy? was she sun-burned? were her hands scratched with briers? and what kind of people were these Marshalls?
To this last William hastened to reply:
"Clever country people, very kind to Jessie, and well they may be, for if I've the least discernment, they hope to have her in their family one of these days."
"What can you mean?" and the old lady's salts were brought into frequent use, while William, in his peculiar way, told her of Walter Marshall, who he said "was undoubtedly presuming enough to aspire to Jessie's hand."