“I know it Miss Hastings,” interrupted Mr. Greydon, with forced playfulness in his tone, as if he were determined to rally himself—“but it does not respect any matters of doctrine—rather of practice, I might say. You are always so cheerful and light-hearted, Miss Hastings, it is almost a sin to be moody in your presence.”
“If I had the burden of a pastoral charge”—Sara checked herself—“indeed, I fear it is the advantage of circumstances rather than of temperament, Mr. Greydon,” she concluded.
There was a pause—the German lesson was finished long ago—Sara had been singing, and Mr. Greydon accompanying her piano with the mellow tones of his flute. There was a hush on the air, and a hush upon our spirits. Perhaps it was the moonlight—perhaps it was the music—I don’t know—but it became oppressive, and I began to feel that it was somebody’s duty to relieve somebody’s embarrassment, by introducing a new theme for conversation, and I was about to draw their attention to some glorious shadows falling on the water in the distance, when Mr. Greydon spoke.
“Miss Hastings, I have heard—but I hope it is not true—that you have declared your intention never to marry a clergyman.”
“Indeed! Mr. Greydon—” stammered Sara, “I—who can have so mis—people report so many—” Sara stopped; I never knew her self-possession so completely recreant. Her heart assured her that if such had been her resolution at any time, certain recent circumstances had essentially shaken her purposes—so she could not assent; and to deny it just at this point would make her more uncomfortable still. She was about to conclude the remark as a very impertinent one, when Mr. Greydon continued,
“I hope that determination is not invincible, Miss Hastings; my future happiness depends—”
My sense of honor forbade my remaining in that neighborhood any longer. I had innocently heard already more than was intended for the ears of a third party; so I gathered up my drawing materials with what haste I could, and without the sound of a foot-fall, made good my retreat to the library.
I did not see cousin Sara again till we sat at the breakfast-table the next morning, and then she looked as if she had attained the acme of a pure and rational happiness. I never saw her half so lovely—half so cheerful—half so spiritual; the dream of her whole life seemed about to unfold into a blessed reality. As we sat in her dressing-room, after breakfast, with a simplicity and confidence that made me love and admire her more than ever, she told me of her engagement with the Rev. Robert Greydon.
I opened my eyes and threw down my sewing in the most mischievous surprise.
“Why, Sara Hastings! you have said a thousand times you would not marry a minister! How can I believe you?”