Let us say no more about it, dear Jem. I must go home, and I
must go alone."
"Not alone, Mary!"
"Yes, alone! I cannot tell you why I ask it. And if you guess, I
know you well enough to be sure you'll understand why I ask you
never to speak on that again to me, till I begin. Promise, dear
Jem, promise!"
He promised; to gratify that beseeching face, he promised. And then
he repented, and felt as if he had done ill. Then again he felt as
if she were the best judge, and knowing all (perhaps more than even
he did), might be forming plans which his interference would mar.
One thing was certain! it was a miserable thing to have this awful
forbidden ground of discourse; to guess at each other's thoughts,
when eyes were averted, and cheeks blanched, and words stood still,
arrested in their flow by some casual allusion.
At last a day, fine enough for Mary to travel on, arrived. She had
wished to go, but now her courage failed her. How could she have
said she was weary of that quiet house, where even Ben Sturgis's
grumblings only made a kind of harmonious bass in the concord
between him and his wife, so thoroughly did they know each other
with the knowledge of many years! How could she have longed to quit
that little peaceful room where she had experienced such loving
tendence! Even the very check bed-curtains became dear to her under
the idea of seeing them no more.
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