Part 27 (2/2)

It was the third week since my uncle's death. The next week was to come the marriage, on Wednesday, the 19th of May.

”Marriages in May are not happy,” said Ann Coddle.

”I did not need you to tell me that,” I thought.

It was on Thursday, the 13th; Richard had come up a little earlier, in the evening. It grew to be a little earlier every evening.

”By-and-by he will not go down-town at all, at this rate,” I said to myself, when I heard his ring that night.

I was sitting by the parlor-lamp, with the evening paper in my lap, of which I had not read a word. He came and sat down by the table, and we talked a little while. I tried to find things to talk about, and wondered if it always would be so. I felt as if some day I should give out entirely, and have to go through bankruptcy. (And take a fresh start.)

He never seemed to feel the want of talking; I suppose he was quite satisfied with his thoughts, and with having me beside him.

By-and-by, he said he should have to go up to the library, and look over the last of some books of my uncle's, and finish an inventory that he had begun. Could I not bring my work and sit there by him? I felt a little selfish, for we were already on the last week, and I said I thought I would sit in the parlor. I had to write a letter to Sister Madeline. I had not heard a word from her yet, though I had written twice.

Why could not I write in the library?

I always liked to be alone when I wrote letters: I could not think, when any one was in the room. Besides, trying to smile, he would be sure to talk.

He looked disappointed, and lingered a good while before he went away.

As he rose to go away he threw into my lap a little package, saying,

”There is some white lace for you. Can't you use it on some of your clothes? I don't know anything about such things: maybe it isn't pretty enough, but I thought perhaps it would do for that lilac silk you talked of.”

I opened the package: it was exquisite, fit for a princess; and as I bent over it, I thought, how dead I must be, that it gave me no pleasure to know it was my own, for I had loved such baubles so, a year ago.

”What a ma.s.s of it!” I exclaimed, unfolding yard on yard.

”You must always wear lace,” he said, throwing one end of it over my black dress around the shoulder. ”I like you in it. I am tired of those stiff little linen collars.”

The lace had given me a little compunction about not spending the evening with him: but as I had said so, I could not draw back; so I compromised the matter by going up to the library with him, to see that he was comfortable, before I came down to write my letter.

I brought the little student-lamp from my own room and lit it, and put it on the library-table, and brought him some fresh pens, and opened the inkstand for him, even pushed up the chair and put a little footstool by it. Though he was standing by the bookshelves, and seemed to be engrossed by them, I knew that he was watching me, filled with content and satisfaction.

”Do you remember where that box of cigars was put?” he said, turning to me as I paused. That was to keep me longer; for they were on the shelf, half a yard from where he stood.

I got the cigar-box and put it on the table.

”Now you will want some matches, and this stand is almost empty.” So I took it away with me to my room, and came back with it filled.

”Is there anything else that I can do?” I said, pausing as I put it on the table.

”No, Pauline. I believe not. Thank you.”

I think that moment Richard was nearer to happiness than he had ever been before. Poor fellow!

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