‘Of Ulysses E. Stedman, you mean?’ cried the Professor, holding up his forefinger. ‘Eustasia, take care! You promised me never to think of him any more, and I expect you to keep your word.’
‘But don’t you see the resemblance?’
‘Well, I dare say I do, for Ulysses was well-looking enough when he wasn’t in liquor. Don’t talk about him, and don’t think about him! He’s buried somewhere down Florida way, and I ain’t sorry on your account neither.’
‘Killed! murdered! and so young!’ cried the girl with a cry so startling, and so full of pain, that her brother looked aghast. As he spoke, she drew her dripping right hand from the tank and placed it wildly upon her forehead. The water-drops streamed down her face like tears, while her whole countenance looked livid with pain.
‘Eustasia!’
‘I loved him, Salem! I loved him with all my soul!’
‘Well, I know you did,’ said the little man soothingly. ‘I warned you against him, but you wouldn’t listen. Now that’s all over; and as for Ulysses being murdered, he was killed in a free fight, he was, and he only got what he’d given to many another. Don’t you take on, Eustasia! If ever you marry, it will be a better man than he was.’
‘Marry?’ cried the girl with a bitter laugh. ‘Who’d marry me? Who’d ever look at such a thing as I am? Even he despised me, Salem, and thought me a cheat and an impostor. Wherever we go, it’s the old story. I hate the life; I hate myself. I’d rather be a beggar in the street than what I am.’
‘Don’t underreckon yourself, Eustasia! Don’t underreckon your wonderful gifts!’
‘What are my gifts worth?’ said Eustasia.