"It's no use to think any more about it. They have at length succeeded in making her what I would have one time sworn that she never would be—a woman of the world. Ah truly 'the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.' Six months ago I never could have believed that Marguerite Verne would have yielded to such worldly influence. She seemed an angel among sinners. And she speaks of Hubert Tracy in such a gushing style—so foreign to the modest high-toned sentiments which always inspired me with a love of truth."
"Can it be possible that Marguerite Verne wrote that letter?" exclaimed Phillip Lawson, holding it up before him and scrutinizing every line. Then throwing it aside, added, with a deep tone of resentment, "Is it possible that one must lose all faith in humanity?" Then, as if some good spirit had whispered better things, He raised his eyes and faintly exclaimed, "Father forgive me, I have been sorely tempted," and set about some work with a fiercer determination than ever to make his will subservient to his reason.
Melindy Thrasher had not seen more than a fortnight's service in the Lawson family when Mr. Spriggins made it convenient to stay and spend the evening.
Phillip being called away upon business the happy pair solaced themselves in the inviting back parlor, and whiled away the hour in the way that only such lovers can when one takes into consideration the candies and peanuts that were conspicuous on this occasion.
When the latch-key turned in the front door all was quiet within, and the back parlor in perfect order. Faint sounds beneath the window told the indulgent master that Melindy was taking leave of her lover.
Mr. Lawson was not guilty of eavesdropping, but what could he do—the voices became more distinct.
"I tell you what it is, Moses Spriggins, there hain't been no secrets between us afore this, and I'd like to know why you can't tell me what business took you to Mr. Verne's office. Now you know you was there just as well as you know the head is on your body."
"Come, come, Melindy—I ain't got no secrets from you. It's only a little bit of bisness that I was a-doin' for 'Squire Verne—(Mr. Spriggins had a habit of addressing all men of any importance by such appellation)—and it's his secret, not mine, and you can't blame a fellar for a-keepin' it when he is asked to do it, can you, Melindy?"
At this declaration the said Melindy was somewhat mollified, but muttered something about the two being one.
"Wal, never mind now," said Moses, "that's a dear Melindy; let's make up," and suiting the action to the word the lovers made up, and Melindy was satisfied that the secret did not belong to her affianced.