“On the night of our wedding,” the book began, “we begin this record of our lives, for until to-day we have not truly lived.” This was signed by both. Then, in the woman’s hand, was written a description of her wedding-gown, which was a simple white muslin, made by herself. Her ornaments were set down briefly—only a wreath of roses in her hair, a string of coral beads, and the diamond brooch which was at that moment in Dorothy’s jewel-box.
For three weeks there were alternate entries, then suddenly, without date, were two words so badly written as to be scarcely readable: “She died.” For days thereafter was only this: “I cannot write.” These simple words were the key to a world of pain, for the pages were blistered with a man’s hot tears.
Then came this: “She would want me to go on writing it, so I will, though I have no heart for it.”
From thence onward the book proceeded without interruption, a minute and faithful record of the man’s inner life. Long extracts copied from books filled page after page of this strange diary, interspersed with records of business transactions, of letters received and answered, of wages paid, and of the visits of Jeremiah Bradford.
“We talked long to-night upon the immortality of the soul,” one entry ran. “Jeremiah does not believe it, but I must—or die.”
Dick soon lost interest in the book, and finding solitary toil at the shelves uncongenial, went out, whistling. Elaine and Dorothy read on together, scarcely noting his absence.
The book had begun in the Spring. Early in June was chronicled the arrival of “a woman calling herself Cousin Elmira, blood relation of my Rebecca. Was not aware my Rebecca had a blood relation named Elmira, but there is much in the world that I do not know.”
According to the diary, Cousin Elmira had remained six weeks and had greatly distressed her unwilling host. “Women are peculiar,” Uncle Ebeneezer had written, “all being possessed of the devil, except my sainted Rebecca, who was an angel if there ever was one.
“Cousin Elmira is a curious woman. To-day she desired to know what had become of my Rebecca’s wedding garments, her linen sheets and table-cloths. Answered that I did not know, and immediately put a lock upon the chest containing them. Have always been truthful up to now, but Rebecca would not desire to have any blood relation handling her sheets. Of this I am sure.
“Aug. 9. To-day came Cousin Silas Martin and his wife to spend their honeymoon. Much grieved to hear of Rebecca’s death. Said she had invited them to spend their honeymoon with her when they married. Did not know of this, but our happiness was of such short duration that my Rebecca did not have time to tell me of all her wishes. Company is very hard to bear, but I would do much for my Rebecca.