John Marvel, Assistant

by Thomas Nelson Page

"What! Has she accepted you?" His face was, as I recalled later, full of feeling of some kind.

"No. I wish to Heaven she had! If anything, she has rejected me,—but that is nothing. I am going to win her and marry her. I am going to ask her father's permission to pay my addresses to her, and then I don't care whether he gives it or not.—Yes, I do care, too; but whether he does or not I am going to win her and him and marry her."

"Henry," he said gently, "you deserve to win her, and I believe, maybe—if—" He went off into a train of reflection, which I broke in on.

"I don't think I do," I said honestly, sobered by his gentleness; "but that makes no difference. I love her better than all the rest of the world, and I mean to win her or die trying. So, none of your 'maybes' and 'ifs'. I want your advice how to proceed. I have not a cent in the world; am, in fact, in debt; and I feel that I must tell her father so."

"That will scarcely tend to strengthen your chances with him," said John. My spirits rose.

"I can't help that. I feel that I must tell him!" Though I spoke so grandly, my tone contained a query.

"Yes, that's right," said John decisively. His mind had been working slowly. My spirits drooped.

I was not conscious till then how strongly I had hoped that he might disagree with me. My heart quite sank at the final disappearance of my hope. But I was in for it now. My principle was strong enough when strengthened by John's invincible soundness.

I walked into the building in which Mr. Leigh had his offices, boldly enough. If my heart thumped, at least, I had myself well in hand. The clerk to whom I addressed myself said he was not in, but was expected in shortly. Could he do anything for me? No, I wanted to see Mr. Leigh personally. Would I take a seat?

I took a chair, but soon made up my mind that if I sat there five minutes I would not be able to speak. I sat just one minute. At least, that was the time my watch registered, though I early discovered that there was no absolute standard of the divisions of time. The hands of a clock may record with regularity the revolutions of the earth, the moon, or the stars; but not the passage of time as it affects the human mind. The lover in his mistress' presence, and the lover waiting for his mistress, or for that matter, for her father, has no equal gauge of measurement of Time's passage. With the one the winged sandals of Mercury were not so fleet, with the other, the leaden feet of Chronos were not so dull.