"Yes," said Miss Essie,—"and then—you'll never know it—but she will sit alone up stairs and sew while you are writing your sermons, and she'll sit down stairs and sew while you're riding about the country or walking about the town; and she'll go out alone of your errands when you have a cold that keeps you at home; and the only time she hears you speak will be when you speak in the pulpit! And if you ask her whether she is happy, she will say yes!—"
Despite all her desperate contusion, the one visible corner of Faith's mouth shewed rebellion against order. Mr. Linden laughed with most unterrified amusement.
"If she says that, it will be so, Miss Essie—my wife will be a most uncompromising truth-teller. But in your picture I am the one to be pitied. Will she never sit on the same floor with me under any circumstances?"
"More than you deserve!" said Miss Essie. "You to be pitied, indeed! You know the man has the stir, and the talk, and the going from place to place, and the being looked up to, and the having everybody at his feet; and what has she?"
Mr. Linden did not answer, even with his eyes, which were looking down; and the smile which came at Miss Essie's last words, was clearly not meant for her. His wife would have something—so it said and asserted,—and his wife was not an indefinite, imaginary person,—it said that too. And she was worth all that could be laid at her feet. How much he had to lay there—what homage his homage was—even of this the face gave unconscious token. Miss Essie looked, and read it or at least felt it, much more than she could well have put into words. Then taking in review Faith's bowed head, she turned and spoke in quite a different tone.
"There is no use in talking to people, Mrs. Derrick. After all, mayn't
I have Faith?"
"To spend the day? Oh no, Miss Essie!—she's not strong enough," said Mrs. Derrick, rising from the table and beginning to put the cups together. Faith left the party and went to the fire, which in the advanced state of the May morning needed no tending.
"Yet she must spend the day somewhere," said Miss Essie wheeling round.
"Faith!—what are you going to do with yourself?"
"Nothing, Miss Essie,"—came softly from the fire-mender. But as her hand moved to and fro with the tongs, the sparkle of the diamonds caught Miss Essie's eye.
"Child!—how did you get that?"—she exclaimed, springing to her side and arresting the tongs. Faith's low "I don't know, ma'am"—was inimitable. It was well neither lady had sight of Mr. Linden's face.