Why should she assume with him what was not true? When had he ever shown himself unworthy of her confidence?
“No, Carl,” she said, “you need not tell me, and you must say nothing to me that you would not say to a married woman. I trust you, Carl. You have always been honorable. You are very dear to me, and I trust you perfectly. It is best that you should go.”
The last words were spoken rather faintly, and she had turned from him, and opened the door.
“I shall go to Boston,” he said, “and stay there. In a few weeks you will all come up, and I shall see you.”
She stood in the door now, with her face half turned, and her forehead resting against the door-frame, so that he saw only her profile. And, so leaning, as though from faintness, she put her hand back, and held out her letters to him, and he took them.
“Read them both,” she said, “and mail them for me. And, Carl, I shall not see you again before you go. And”—she stopped, as though her voice had failed her.
“I will not ask you to,” he said.
“And, afterward,” she went on, “I shall not see you in Boston. If you are at home, I shall go to stay with Dick’s mother.”
She did not look round again, but went up-stairs quickly, and shut herself into her room. It is not for us to intrude in that privacy wherein a young heart fought its first battle.
No one saw her that day; but the next morning she came out, and went about her usual employments, much in her usual manner. Whether, like that Russian empress, she was “too proud to be unhappy,” or she had been soothed by that trust in God which makes every yoke easy