“Engaged to teach, I mean,” returned Will. “I’ll show you what he wrote when you pick up those stitches. What do you call that queer-shaped thing?”
“A Sontag, or Hug-me-tight,” said Marian, while Will involuntarily exclaimed, “Oh, I wish I could—see Fred, he’s such a good fellow,” he hastened to add, as he saw Marian’s wondering glance.
But the beginning and end of the sentence were too far apart to belong to each other, and there was a moment’s awkward silence, which was broken at last by Marian, who, resolving to take no notice of the strange speech, said:
“What did Mr. Raymond write of me?”
“I’ll show you just a little,” and Will pointed out the sentence commencing with “Give my respects to Miss Grey,” etc.
The sight of the well-remembered handwriting affected Marian sensibly; but when she came to the last part, and began to understand to what it all was tending, her head grew dizzy and her brain whirled for a moment. Then an intense pity for Will Gordon filled her soul, for looking upward she met the glance of his eyes, and saw therein how much she was beloved.
“No, no, Mr. Gordon!” she cried, putting her hands to her ears as he began to say: “Dear Marian.” “You must not call me so; it is wicked for you to do it—wicked for me to listen. I am not what I seem.”
And she burst into tears, weeping so bitterly that in his efforts to soothe her, Will well nigh carried out the wish which had been finished up with “seeing Frederic Raymond.”
Her not being what she seemed, he fancied might refer to something connected with her birth, and he hastened to assure her that no circumstance whatever could change his feelings, or prevent him from wishing her to be his wife.
“Won’t you, Marian?” he said, holding her in his arm so she could not escape. “I have never loved before. I always said I could not, until I saw you; and then everything was changed. I have told my mother, darling, and Ellen, too. They are ready to receive you, if you will go. Look at me, and say you will come to my home, which will never again be so bright to me without you. Won’t my darling answer me?” he continued, while she sobbed so violently as to render speaking impossible. “I am sorry if my words distressed you so,” he added, resting her head upon his bosom, and fondly smoothing her hair.