The Courtship of Susan Bell

by Anthony Trollope

　　

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John Munroe Bell had been a lawyer in Albany, State of New York, andas such had thriven well. He had thriven well as long as thrift andthriving on this earth had been allowed to him. But the Almightyhad seen fit to shorten his span.Early in life he had married a timid, anxious, pretty, good littlewife, whose whole heart and mind had been given up to do his biddingand deserve his love. She had not only deserved it but hadpossessed it, and as long as John Munroe Bell had lived, HenriettaBell--Hetta as he called her--had been a woman rich in blessings.After twelve years of such blessings he had left her, and had leftwith her two daughters, a second Hetta, and the heroine of ourlittle story, Susan Bell.A lawyer in Albany may thrive passing well for eight or ten years,and yet not leave behind him any very large sum of money if he diesat the end of that time. Some small modicum, some few thousanddollars, John Bell had amassed, so that his widow and daughters werenot absolutely driven to look for work or bread.In those happy days when cash had begun to flow in plenteously tothe young father of the family, he had taken it into his head tobuild for himself, or rather for his young female brood, a smallneat house in the outskirts of Saratoga Springs. In doing so he wasinstigated as much by the excellence of the investment for hispocket as by the salubrity of the place for his girls. He furnishedthe house well, and then during some summer weeks his wife livedthere, and sometimes he let it.How the widow grieved when the lord of her heart and master of hermind was laid in the grave, I need not tell. She had alreadycounted ten years of widowhood, and her children had grown to beyoung women beside her at the time of which I am now about to speak.Since that sad day on which they had left Albany they had livedtogether at the cottage at the Springs. In winter their life hadbeen lonely enough; but as soon as the hot weather began to drivethe fainting citizens out from New York, they had always receivedtwo or three boarders--old ladies generally, and occasionally an oldgentleman--persons of very steady habits, with whose pockets thewidow's moderate demands agreed better than the hotel charges. Andso the Bells lived for ten years.That Saratoga is a gay place in July, August, and September, theworld knows well enough. To girls who go there with trunks full ofmuslin and crinoline, for whom a carriage and pair of horses isalways waiting immediately after dinner, whose fathers' pockets arebursting with dollars, it is a very gay place. Dancing andflirtations come as a matter of course, and matrimony follows afterwith only too great rapidity. But the place was not very gay forHetta or Susan Bell.In the first place the widow was a timid woman, and among otherfears feared greatly that she should be thought guilty of settingtraps for husbands. Poor mothers! how often are they charged withthis sin when their honest desires go no further than that theirbairns may be "respectit like the lave." And then she fearedflirtations; flirtations that should be that and nothing more,flirtations that are so destructive of the heart's sweetest essence.She feared love also, though she longed for that as well as fearedit;--for her girls, I mean; all such feelings for herself were longlaid under ground;--and then, like a timid creature as she was, shehad other indefinite fears, and among them a great fear that thosegirls of hers would be left husbandless,--a phase of life whichafter her twelve years of bliss she regarded as anything butdesirable. But the upshot was,--the upshot of so many fears andsuch small means,--that Hetta and Susan Bell had but a dull life ofit.Were it not that I am somewhat closely restricted in the number ofmy pages, I would describe at full the merits and beauties of Hettaand Susan Bell. As it is I can but say a few words. At our periodof their lives Hetta was nearly one-and-twenty, and Susan was justnineteen. Hetta was a short, plump, demure young woman, with thesoftest smoothed hair, and the brownest brightest eyes. She wasvery useful in the house, good at corn cakes, and thought much,particularly in these latter months, of her religious duties. Hersister in the privacy of their own little room would sometimes twither with the admiring patience with which she would listen to thelengthened eloquence of Mr. Phineas Beckard, the Baptist minister.Now Mr. Phineas Beckard was a bachelor.Susan was not so good a girl in the kitchen or about the house aswas her sister; but she was bright in the parlour, and if thatmotherly heart could have been made to give out its inmost secret--which however, it could not have been made to give out in any waypainful to dear Hetta--perhaps it might have been found that Susanwas loved with the closest love. She was taller than her sister,and lighter; her eyes were blue as were her mother's; her hair wasbrighter than Hetta's, but not always so singularly neat. She had adimple on her chin, whereas Hetta had none; dimples on her cheekstoo, when she smiled; and, oh, such a mouth! There; my allowance ofpages permits no more.One piercing cold winter's day there came knocking at the widow'sdoor--a young man. Winter days, when the ice of January is refrozenby the wind of February, are very cold at Saratoga Springs. Inthese days there was not often much to disturb the serenity of Mrs.Bell's house; but on the day in question there came knocking at thedoor--a young man.Mrs. Bell kept an old domestic, who had lived with them in thosehappy Albany days. Her name was Kate O'Brien, but thoughpicturesque in name she was hardly so in person. She was a thick-set, noisy, good-natured old Irishwoman, who had joined her lot tothat of Mrs. Bell when the latter first began housekeeping, andknowing when she was well off; had remained in the same place fromthat day forth. She had known Hetta as a baby, and, so to say, hadseen Susan's birth."And what might you be wanting, sir?" said Kate O'Brien, apparentlynot quite pleased as she opened the door and let in all the coldair."I wish to see Mrs. Bell. Is not this Mrs. Bell's house?" said theyoung man, shaking the snow from out of the breast of his coat.He did see Mrs. Bell, and we will now tell who he was, and why hehad come, and how it came to pass that his carpet-bag was broughtdown to the widow's house and one of the front bedrooms was preparedfor him, and that he drank tea that night in the widow's parlour.His name was Aaron Dunn, and by profession he was an engineer. Whatpeculiar misfortune in those days of frost and snow had befallen theline of rails which runs from Schenectady to Lake Champlain, I neverquite understood. Banks and bridges had in some way come to grief,and on Aaron Dunn's shoulders was thrown the burden of seeing thatthey were duly repaired. Saratoga Springs was the centre of thesemishaps, and therefore at Saratoga Springs it was necessary that heshould take up his temporary abode.Now there was at that time in New York city a Mr. Bell, great inrailway matters--an uncle of the once thriving but now departedAlbany lawyer. He was a rich man, but he liked his riches himself;or at any rate had not found himself called upon to share them withthe widow and daughters of his nephew. But when it chanced to cometo pass that he had a hand in despatching Aaron Dunn to Saratoga, hetook the young man aside and recommended him to lodge with thewidow. "There," said he, "show her my card." So much the richuncle thought he might vouchsafe to do for the nephew's widow.Mrs. Bell and both her daughters were in the parlour when Aaron Dunnwas shown in, snow and all. He told his story in a rough, shakyvoice, for his teeth chattered; and he gave the card, almost wishingthat he had gone to the empty big hotel, for the widow's welcome wasnot at first quite warm.The widow listened to him as he gave his message, and then she tookthe card and looked at it. Hetta, who was sitting on the side ofthe fireplace facing the door, went on demurely with her work.Susan gave one glance round--her back was to the stranger--and thenanother; and then she moved her chair a little nearer to the wall,so as to give the young man room to come to the fire, if he would.He did not come, but his eyes glanced upon Susan Bell; and hethought that the old man in New York was right, and that the bighotel would be cold and dull. It was a pretty face to look on thatcold evening as she turned it up from the stocking she was mending."Perhaps you don't wish to take winter boarders, ma'am?" said AaronDunn."We never have done so yet, sir," said Mrs. Bell timidly. Could shelet this young wolf in among her lamb-fold? He might be a wolf;--who could tell?"Mr. Bell seemed to think it would suit," said Aaron.Had he acquiesced in her timidity and not pressed the point, itwould have been all up with him. But the widow did not like to goagainst the big uncle; and so she said, "Perhaps it may, sir.""I guess it will, finely," said Aaron. And then the widow seeingthat the matter was so far settled, put down her work and came roundinto the passage. Hetta followed her, for there would be houseworkto do. Aaron gave himself another shake, settled the weekly numberof dollars--with very little difficulty on his part, for he hadcaught another glance at Susan's face; and then went after his bag.'Twas thus that Aaron Dunn obtained an entrance into Mrs. Bell'shouse. "But what if he be a wolf?" she said to herself over andover again that night, though not exactly in those words. Ay, butthere is another side to that question. What if he be a stalwartman, honest-minded, with clever eye, cunning hand, ready brain,broad back, and warm heart; in want of a wife mayhap; a man that canearn his own bread and another's;--half a dozen others' when thehalf dozen come? Would not that be a good sort of lodger? Such aquestion as that too did flit, just flit, across the widow'ssleepless mind. But then she thought so much more of the wolf!Wolves, she had taught herself to think, were more common thanstalwart, honest-minded, wife-desirous men."I wonder mother consented to take him," said Hetta, when they werein the little room together."And why shouldn't she?" said Susan. "It will be a help.""Yes, it will be a little help," said Hetta. "But we have done verywell hitherto without winter lodgers.""But uncle Bell said she was to.""What is uncle Bell to us?" said Hetta, who had a spirit of her own.And she began to surmise within herself whether Aaron Dunn wouldjoin the Baptist congregation, and whether Phineas Beckard wouldapprove of this new move."He is a very well-behaved young man at any rate," said Susan, "andhe draws beautifully. Did you see those things he was doing?""He draws very well, I dare say," said Hetta, who regarded this asbut a poor warranty for good behaviour. Hetta also had some fear ofwolves--not for herself perhaps; but for her sister.Aaron Dunn's work--the commencement of his work--lay at somedistance from the Springs, and he left every morning with a lot ofworkmen by an early train--almost before daylight. And everymorning, cold and wintry as the mornings were, the widow got him hisbreakfast with her own hands. She took his dollars and would notleave him altogether to the awkward mercies of Kate O'Brien; norwould she trust her girls to attend upon the young man. Hetta shemight have trusted; but then Susan would have asked why she wasspared her share of such hardship.In the evening, leaving his work when it was dark, Aaron alwaysreturned, and then the evening was passed together. But they werepassed with the most demure propriety. These women would make thetea, cut the bread and butter, and then sew; while Aaron Dunn, whenthe cups were removed, would always go to his plans and drawings.On Sundays they were more together; but even on this day there wascause of separation, for Aaron went to the Episcopalian church,rather to the disgust of Hetta. In the afternoon, however, theywere together; and then Phineas Beckard came in to tea on Sundays,and he and Aaron got to talking on religion; and though theydisagreed pretty much, and would not give an inch either one or theother, nevertheless the minister told the widow, and Hetta tooprobably, that the lad had good stuff in him, though he was sostiff-necked."But he should be more modest in talking on such matters with aminister," said Hetta.The Rev. Phineas acknowledged that perhaps he should; but he washonest enough to repeat that the lad had stuff in him. "Perhapsafter all he is not a wolf," said the widow to herself.Things went on in this way for above a month. Aaron had declared tohimself over and over again that that face was sweet to look upon,and had unconsciously promised to himself certain delights intalking and perhaps walking with the owner of it. But the walkingshad not been achieved--nor even the talkings as yet. The truth wasthat Dunn was bashful with young women, though he could be so stiff-necked with the minister.And then he felt angry with himself, inasmuch as he had advanced nofurther; and as he lay in his bed--which perhaps those pretty handshad helped to make--he resolved that he would be a thought bolder inhis bearing. He had no idea of making love to Susan Bell; of coursenot. But why should he not amuse himself by talking to a prettygirl when she sat so near him, evening after evening?"What a very quiet young man he is," said Susan to her sister."He has his bread to earn, and sticks to his work," said Hetta. "Nodoubt he has his amusement when he is in the city," added the eldersister, not wishing to leave too strong an impression of the youngman's virtue.They had all now their settled places in the parlour. Hetta sat onone side of the fire, close to the table, having that side toherself. There she sat always busy. She must have made every dressand bit of linen worn in the house, and hemmed every sheet andtowel, so busy was she always. Sometimes, once in a week or so,Phineas Beckard would come in, and then place was made for himbetween Hetta's usual seat and the table. For when there he wouldread out loud. On the other side, close also to the table, sat thewidow, busy, but not savagely busy as her elder daughter. BetweenMrs. Bell and the wall, with her feet ever on the fender, Susan usedto sit; not absolutely idle, but doing work of some slender prettysort, and talking ever and anon to her mother. Opposite to themall, at the other side of the table, far away from the fire, wouldAaron Dunn place himself with his plans and drawings before him."Are you a judge of bridges, ma'am?" said Aaron, the evening afterhe had made his resolution. 'Twas thus he began his courtship."Of bridges?" said Mrs. Bell--"oh dear no, sir." But she put outher hand to take the little drawing which Aaron handed to her."Because that's one I've planned for our bit of a new branch fromMoreau up to Lake George. I guess Miss Susan knows something aboutbridges.""I guess I don't," said Susan--"only that they oughtn't to tumbledown when the frost comes.""Ha, ha, ha; no more they ought. I'll tell McEvoy that." McEvoyhad been a former engineer on the line. "Well, that won't burstwith any frost, I guess.""Oh my! how pretty!" said the widow, and then Susan of course jumpedup to look over her mother's shoulder.The artful dodger! he had drawn and coloured a beautiful littlesketch of a bridge; not an engineer's plan with sections andmeasurements, vexatious to a woman's eye, but a graceful littlebridge with a string of cars running under it. You could almosthear the bell going."Well; that is a pretty bridge," said Susan. "Isn't it, Hetta?""I don't know anything about bridges," said Hetta, to whose clevereyes the dodge was quite apparent. But in spite of her clevernessMrs. Bell and Susan had soon moved their chairs round to the table,and were looking through the contents of Aaron's portfolio. "Butyet he may be a wolf," thought the poor widow, just as she waskneeling down to say her prayers.That evening certainly made a commencement. Though Hetta went onpertinaciously with the body of a new dress, the other two ladiesdid not put in another stitch that night. From his drawings Aarongot to his instruments, and before bedtime was teaching Susan how todraw parallel lines. Susan found that she had quite an aptitude forparallel lines, and altogether had a good time of it that evening.It is dull to go on week after week, and month after month, talkingonly to one's mother and sister. It is dull though one does notoneself recognise it to be so. A little change in such matters isso very pleasant. Susan had not the slightest idea of regardingAaron as even a possible lover. But young ladies do like theconversation of young gentlemen. Oh, my exceedingly proper prim oldlady, you who are so shocked at this as a general doctrine, has itnever occurred to you that the Creator has so intended it?Susan understanding little of the how and why, knew that she had hada good time, and was rather in spirits as she went to bed. ButHetta had been frightened by the dodge."Oh, Hetta, you should have looked at those drawings. He is soclever!" said Susan."I don't know that they would have done me much good," repliedHetta."Good! Well, they'd do me more good than a long sermon, I know,"said Susan; "except on a Sunday, of course," she addedapologetically. This was an ill-tempered attack both on Hetta andHetta's admirer. But then why had Hetta been so snappish?"I'm sure he's a wolf;" thought Hetta as she went to bed."What a very clever young man he is!" thought Susan to herself asshe pulled the warm clothes round about her shoulders and ears."Well that certainly was an improvement," thought Aaron as he wentthrough the same operation, with a stronger feeling of self-approbation than he had enjoyed for some time past.In the course of the next fortnight the family arrangements allaltered themselves. Unless when Beckard was there Aaron would sitin the widow's place, the widow would take Susan's chair, and thetwo girls would be opposite. And then Dunn would read to them; notsermons, but passages from Shakspeare, and Byron, and Longfellow."He reads much better than Mr. Beckard," Susan had said one night."Of course you're a competent judge!" had been Hetta's retort. "Imean that I like it better," said Susan. "It's well that all peopledon't think alike," replied Hetta.And then there was a deal of talking. The widow herself, asunconscious in this respect as her youngest daughter, certainly didfind that a little variety was agreeable on those long winternights; and talked herself with unaccustomed freedom. And Beckardcame there oftener and talked very much. When he was there the twoyoung men did all the talking, and they pounded each otherimmensely. But still there grew up a sort of friendship betweenthem."Mr. Beckard seems quite to take to him," said Mrs. Bell to hereldest daughter."It is his great good nature, mother," replied Hetta.It was at the end of the second month when Aaron took another stepin advance--a perilous step. Sometimes on evenings he still went onwith his drawing for an hour or so; but during three or fourevenings he never asked any one to look at what he was doing. Onone Friday he sat over his work till late, without any reading ortalking at all; so late that at last Mrs. Bell said, "If you'regoing to sit much longer, Mr. Dunn, I'll get you to put out thecandles." Thereby showing, had he known it or had she, that themother's confidence in the young man was growing fast. Hetta knewall about it, and dreaded that the growth was too quick."I've finished now," said Aaron; and he looked carefully at thecardboard on which he had been washing in his water-colours. "I'vefinished now." He then hesitated a moment; but ultimately he putthe card into his portfolio and carried it up to his bedroom. Whodoes not perceive that it was intended as a present to Susan Bell?The question which Aaron asked himself that night, and which hehardly knew how to answer, was this. Should he offer the drawing toSusan in the presence of her mother and sister, or on some occasionwhen they two might be alone together? No such occasion had everyet occurred, but Aaron thought that it might probably be broughtabout. But then he wanted to make no fuss about it. His firstintention had been to chuck the drawing lightly across the tablewhen it was completed, and so make nothing of it. But he hadfinished it with more care than he had at first intended; and thenhe had hesitated when he had finished it. It was too late now forthat plan of chucking it over the table.On the Saturday evening when he came down from his room, Mr. Beckardwas there, and there was no opportunity that night. On the Sunday,in conformity with a previous engagement, he went to hear Mr.Beckard preach, and walked to and from meeting with the family.This pleased Mrs. Bell, and they were all very gracious thatafternoon. But Sunday was no day for the picture.On Monday the thing had become of importance to him. Things alwaysdo when they are kept over. Before tea that evening when he camedown Mrs. Bell and Susan only were in the room. He knew Hetta forhis foe, and therefore determined to use this occasion."Miss Susan," he said, stammering somewhat, and blushing too, poorfool! "I have done a little drawing which I want you to accept,"and he put his portfolio down on the table."Oh! I don't know," said Susan, who had seen the blush.Mrs. Bell had seen the blush also, and pursed her mouth up, andlooked grave. Had there been no stammering and no blush, she mighthave thought nothing of it.Aaron saw at once that his little gift was not to go down smoothly.He was, however, in for it now, so he picked it out from among theother papers in the case and brought it over to Susan. Heendeavoured to hand it to her with an air of indifference, but Icannot say that he succeeded.It was a very pretty, well-finished, water-coloured drawing,representing still the same bridge, but with more adjuncts. InSusan's eyes it was a work of high art. Of pictures probably shehad seen but little, and her liking for the artist no doubt added toher admiration. But the more she admired it and wished for it, thestronger was her feeling that she ought not to take it.Poor Susan! she stood for a minute looking at the drawing, but shesaid nothing; not even a word of praise. She felt that she was redin the face, and uncourteous to their lodger; but her mother waslooking at her and she did not know how to behave herself.Mrs. Bell put out her hand for the sketch, trying to bethink herselfas she did so in what least uncivil way she could refuse thepresent. She took a moment to look at it collecting her thoughts,and as she did so her woman's wit came to her aid."Oh dear, Mr. Dunn, it is very pretty; quite a beautiful picture. Icannot let Susan rob you of that. You must keep that for some ofyour own particular friends.""But I did it for her," said Aaron innocently.Susan looked down at the ground, half pleased at the declaration.The drawing would look very pretty in a small gilt frame put overher dressing-table. But the matter now was altogether in hermother's hands."I am afraid it is too valuable, sir, for Susan to accept.""It is not valuable at all," said Aaron, declining to take it backfrom the widow's hand."Oh, I am quite sure it is. It is worth ten dollars at least--ortwenty," said poor Mrs. Bell, not in the very best taste. But shewas perplexed, and did not know how to get out of the scrape. Thearticle in question now lay upon the table-cloth, appropriated by noone, and at this moment Hetta came into the room."It is not worth ten cents," said Aaron, with something like a frownon his brow. "But as we had been talking about the bridge, Ithought Miss Susan would accept it.""Accept what?" said Hetta. And then her eye fell upon the drawingand she took it up."It is beautifully done," said Mrs. Bell, wishing much to soften thematter; perhaps the more so that Hetta the demure was now present."I am telling Mr. Dunn that we can't take a present of anything sovaluable.""Oh dear no," said Hetta. "It wouldn't be right."It was a cold frosty evening in March, and the fire was burningbrightly on the hearth. Aaron Dunn took up the drawing quietly--very quietly--and rolling it up, as such drawings are rolled, put itbetween the blazing logs. It was the work of four evenings, and hischef-d'oeuvre in the way of art.Susan, when she saw what he had done, burst out into tears. Thewidow could very readily have done so also, but she was able torefrain herself, and merely exclaimed--"Oh, Mr. Dunn!""If Mr. Dunn chooses to burn his own picture, he has certainly aright to do so," said Hetta.Aaron immediately felt ashamed of what he had done; and he alsocould have cried, but for his manliness. He walked away to one ofthe parlour-windows, and looked out upon the frosty night. It wasdark, but the stars were bright, and he thought that he should liketo be walking fast by himself along the line of rails towardsBalston. There he stood, perhaps for three minutes. He thought itwould be proper to give Susan time to recover from her tears."Will you please to come to your tea, sir?" said the soft voice ofMrs. Bell.He turned round to do so, and found that Susan was gone. It was notquite in her power to recover from her tears in three minutes. Andthen the drawing had been so beautiful! It had been done expresslyfor her too! And there had been something, she knew not what, inhis eye as he had so declared. She had watched him intently overthose four evenings' work, wondering why he did not show it, tillher feminine curiosity had become rather strong. It was somethingvery particular, she was sure, and she had learned that all thatprecious work had been for her. Now all that precious work wasdestroyed. How was it possible that she should not cry for morethan three minutes?The others took their meal in perfect silence, and when it was overthe two women sat down to their work. Aaron had a book which hepretended to read, but instead of reading he was bethinking himselfthat he had behaved badly. What right had he to throw them all intosuch confusion by indulging in his passion? He was ashamed of whathe had done, and fancied that Susan would hate him. Fancying that,he began to find at the same time that he by no means hated her.At last Hetta got up and left the room. She knew that her sisterwas sitting alone in the cold, and Hetta was affectionate. Susanhad not been in fault, and therefore Hetta went up to console her."Mrs. Bell," said Aaron, as soon as the door was closed, "I beg yourpardon for what I did just now.""Oh, sir, I'm so sorry that the picture is burnt," said poor Mrs.Bell."The picture does not matter a straw," said Aaron. "But I see thatI have disturbed you all,--and I am afraid I have made Miss Susanunhappy.""She was grieved because your picture was burnt," said Mrs. Bell,putting some emphasis on the "your," intending to show that herdaughter had not regarded the drawing as her own. But the emphasisbore another meaning; and so the widow perceived as soon as she hadspoken."Oh, I can do twenty more of the same if anybody wanted them," saidAaron. "If I do another like it, will you let her take it, Mrs.Bell?--just to show that you have forgiven me, and that we arefriends as we were before?"Was he, or was he not a wolf? That was the question which Mrs. Bellscarcely knew how to answer. Hetta had given her voice, saying hewas lupine. Mr. Beckard's opinion she had not liked to askdirectly. Mr. Beckard she thought would probably propose to Hetta;but as yet he had not done so. And, as he was still a stranger inthe family, she did not like in any way to compromise Susan's name.Indirectly she had asked the question, and, indirectly also, Mr.Beckard's answer had been favourable."But it mustn't mean anything, sir," was the widow's weak answer,when she had paused on the question for a moment."Oh no, of course not," said Aaron, joyously, and his face becameradiant and happy. "And I do beg your pardon for burning it; andthe young ladies' pardon too." And then he rapidly got out hiscardboard, and set himself to work about another bridge. The widow,meditating many things in her heart, commenced the hemming of ahandkerchief.In about an hour the two girls came back to the room and silentlytook their accustomed places. Aaron hardly looked up, but went ondiligently with his drawing. This bridge should be a better bridgethan that other. Its acceptance was now assured. Of course it wasto mean nothing. That was a matter of course. So he worked awaydiligently, and said nothing to anybody.When they went off to bed the two girls went into the mother's room."Oh, mother, I hope he is not very angry," said Susan."Angry!" said Hetta, "if anybody should be angry, it is mother. Heought to have known that Susan could not accept it. He should neverhave offered it.""But he's doing another," said Mrs. Bell."Not for her," said Hetta."Yes he is," said Mrs. Bell, "and I have promised that she shalltake it." Susan as she heard this sank gently into the chair behindher, and her eyes became full of tears. The intimation was almosttoo much for her."Oh, mother!" said Hetta."But I particularly said that it was to mean nothing.""Oh, mother, that makes it worse."Why should Hetta interfere in this way, thought Susan to herself.Had she interfered when Mr. Beckard gave Hetta a testament bound inMorocco? had not she smiled, and looked gratified, and kissed hersister, and declared that Phineas Beckard was a nice dear man, andby far the most elegant preacher at the Springs? Why should Hettabe so cruel?"I don't see that, my dear," said the mother. Hetta would notexplain before her sister, so they all went to bed.On the Thursday evening the drawing was finished. Not a word hadbeen said about it, at any rate in his presence, and he had gone onworking in silence. "There," said he, late on the Thursday evening,"I don't know that it will be any better if I go on daubing foranother hour. There, Miss Susan; there's another bridge. I hopethat will neither burst with the frost, nor yet be destroyed byfire," and he gave it a light flip with his fingers and sent itskimming over the table.Susan blushed and smiled, and took it up. "Oh, it is beautiful,"she said. "Isn't it beautifully done, mother?" and then all thethree got up to look at it, and all confessed that it wasexcellently done."And I am sure we are very much obliged to you," said Susan after apause, remembering that she had not yet thanked him."Oh, it's nothing," said he, not quite liking the word "we." On thefollowing day he returned from his work to Saratoga about noon.This he had never done before, and therefore no one expected that hewould be seen in the house before the evening. On this occasion,however, he went straight thither, and as chance would have it, boththe widow and her elder daughter were out. Susan was there alone incharge of the house.He walked in and opened the parlour door. There she sat, with herfeet on the fender, with her work unheeded on the table behind her,and the picture, Aaron's drawing, lying on her knees. She wasgazing at it intently as he entered, thinking in her young heartthat it possessed all the beauties which a picture could possess."Oh, Mr. Dunn," she said, getting up and holding the telltale sketchbehind the skirt of her dress."Miss Susan, I have come here to tell your mother that I must startfor New York this afternoon and be there for six weeks, or perhapslonger.""Mother is out," said she; "I'm so sorry.""Is she?" said Aaron."And Hetta too. Dear me. And you'll be wanting dinner. I'll goand see about it."Aaron began to swear that he could not possibly eat any dinner. Hehad dined once, and was going to dine again;--anything to keep herfrom going."But you must have something, Mr. Dunn," and she walked towards thedoor.But he put his back to it. "Miss Susan," said he, "I guess I'vebeen here nearly two months.""Yes, sir, I believe you have," she replied, shaking in her shoes,and not knowing which way to look."And I hope we have been good friends.""Yes, sir," said Susan, almost beside herself as to what she wassaying."I'm going away now, and it seems to be such a time before I'll beback.""Will it, Sir?""Six weeks, Miss Susan!" and then he paused, looking into her eyes,to see what he could read there. She leant against the table,pulling to pieces a morsel of half-ravelled muslin which she held inher hand; but her eyes were turned to the ground, and he couldhardly see them."Miss Susan," he continued, "I may as well speak out now as atanother time." He too was looking towards the ground, and clearlydid not know what to do with his hands. "The truth is just this.I--I love you dearly, with all my heart. I never saw any one I everthought so beautiful, so nice, and so good;--and what's more, Inever shall. I'm not very good at this sort of thing, I know; but Icouldn't go away from Saratoga for six weeks and not tell you." Andthen he ceased. He did not ask for any love in return. Hispresumption had not got so far as that yet. He merely declared hispassion, leaning against the door, and there he stood twiddling histhumbs.Susan had not the slightest conception of the way in which she oughtto receive such a declaration. She had never had a lover before;nor had she ever thought of Aaron absolutely as a lover, thoughsomething very like love for him had been crossing over her spirit.Now, at this moment, she felt that he was the beau-ideal of manhood,though his boots were covered with the railway mud, and though hispantaloons were tucked up in rolls round his ankles. He was a fine,well-grown, open-faced fellow, whose eye was bold and yet tender,whose brow was full and broad, and all his bearing manly. Love him!Of course she loved him. Why else had her heart melted withpleasure when her mother said that that second picture was to beaccepted?But what was she to say? Anything but the open truth; she well knewthat. The open truth would not do at all. What would her mothersay and Hetta if she were rashly to say that? Hetta, she knew,would be dead against such a lover, and of her mother's approbationshe had hardly more hope. Why they should disapprove of Aaron as alover she had never asked herself. There are many nice things thatseem to be wrong only because they are so nice. Maybe that Susanregarded a lover as one of them. "Oh, Mr. Dunn, you shouldn't."That in fact was all that she could say."Should not I?" said he. "Well, perhaps not; but there's the truth,and no harm ever comes of that. Perhaps I'd better not ask you foran answer now, but I thought it better you should know it all. Andremember this--I only care for one thing now in the world, and thatis for your love." And then he paused, thinking possibly that inspite of what he had said he might perhaps get some sort of ananswer, some inkling of the state of her heart's disposition towardshim.But Susan had at once resolved to take him at his word when hesuggested that an immediate reply was not necessary. To say thatshe loved him was of course impossible, and to say that she did notwas equally so. She determined therefore to close at once with theoffer of silence.When he ceased speaking there was a moment's pause, during which hestrove hard to read what might be written on her down-turned face.But he was not good at such reading. "Well, I guess I'll go and getmy things ready now," he said, and then turned round to open thedoor."Mother will be in before you are gone, I suppose," said Susan."I have only got twenty minutes," said he, looking at his watch."But, Susan, tell her what I have said to you. Goodbye." And heput out his hand. He knew he should see her again, but this hadbeen his plan to get her hand in his."Good-bye, Mr. Dunn," and she gave him her hand.He held it tight for a moment, so that she could not draw it away,--could not if she would. "Will you tell your mother?" he asked."Yes," she answered, quite in a whisper. "I guess I'd better tellher." And then she gave a long sigh. He pressed her hand again andgot it up to his lips."Mr. Dunn, don't," she said. But he did kiss it. "God bless you,my own dearest, dearest girl! I'll just open the door as I comedown. Perhaps Mrs. Bell will be here." And then he rushed upstairs.But Mrs. Bell did not come in. She and Hetta were at a weeklyservice at Mr. Beckard's meeting-house, and Mr. Beckard it seemedhad much to say. Susan, when left alone, sat down and tried tothink. But she could not think; she could only love. She could useher mind only in recounting to herself the perfections of thatdemigod whose heavy steps were so audible overhead, as he walked toand fro collecting his things and putting them into his bag.And then, just when he had finished, she bethought herself that hemust be hungry. She flew to the kitchen, but she was too late.Before she could even reach at the loaf of bread he descended thestairs, with a clattering noise, and heard her voice as she spokequickly to Kate O'Brien."Miss Susan," he said, "don't get anything for me, for I'm off.""Oh, Mr. Dunn, I am so sorry. You'll be so hungry on your journey,"and she came out to him in the passage."I shall want nothing on the journey, dearest, if you'll say onekind word to me."Again her eyes went to the ground. "What do you want me to say, Mr.Dunn?""Say, God bless you, Aaron.""God bless you, Aaron," said she; and yet she was sure that she hadnot declared her love. He however thought otherwise, and went up toNew York with a happy heart.Things happened in the next fortnight rather quickly. Susan at onceresolved to tell her mother, but she resolved also not to tellHetta. That afternoon she got her mother to herself in Mrs. Bell'sown room, and then she made a clean breast of it."And what did you say to him, Susan?""I said nothing, mother.""Nothing, dear!""No, mother; not a word. He told me he didn't want it." She forgothow she had used his Christian name in bidding God bless him."Oh dear!" said the widow."Was it very wrong?" asked Susan."But what do you think yourself, my child?" asked Mrs. Bell after awhile. "What are your own feelings."Mrs. Bell was sitting on a chair and Susan was standing opposite toher against the post of the bed. She made no answer, but movingfrom her place, she threw herself into her mother's arms, and hidher face on her mother's shoulder. It was easy enough to guess whatwere her feelings."But, my darling," said her mother, "you must not think that it isan engagement.""No," said Susan, sorrowfully."Young men say those things to amuse themselves." Wolves, she wouldhave said, had she spoken out her mind freely."Oh, mother, he is not like that."The daughter contrived to extract a promise from the mother thatHetta should not be told just at present. Mrs. Bell calculated thatshe had six weeks before her; as yet Mr. Beckard had not spoken out,but there was reason to suppose that he would do so before those sixweeks would be over, and then she would be able to seek counsel fromhim.Mr. Beckard spoke out at the end of six days, and Hetta franklyaccepted him. "I hope you'll love your brother-in-law," said she toSusan."Oh, I will indeed," said Susan; and in the softness of her heart atthe moment she almost made up her mind to tell; but Hetta was fullof her own affairs, and thus it passed off.It was then arranged that Hetta should go and spend a week with Mr.Beckard's parents. Old Mr. Beckard was a farmer living near Utica,and now that the match was declared and approved, it was thoughtwell that Hetta should know her future husband's family. So shewent for a week, and Mr. Beckard went with her. "He will be back inplenty of time for me to speak to him before Aaron Dunn's six weeksare over," said Mrs. Bell to herself.But things did not go exactly as she expected. On the very morningafter the departure of the engaged couple, there came a letter fromAaron, saying that he would be at Saratoga that very evening. Therailway people had ordered him down again for some days' specialwork; then he was to go elsewhere, and not to return to Saratogatill June. "But he hoped," so said the letter, "that Mrs. Bellwould not turn him into the street even then, though the summermight have come, and her regular lodgers might be expected.""Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Bell to herself, reflecting that shehad no one of whom she could ask advice, and that she must decidethat very day. Why had she let Mr. Beckard go without telling him?Then she told Susan, and Susan spent the day trembling. Perhaps,thought Mrs. Bell, he will say nothing about it. In such case,however, would it not be her duty to say something? Poor mother!She trembled nearly as much as Susan.It was dark when the fatal knock came at the door. The tea-thingswere already laid, and the tea-cake was already baked; for it wouldat any rate be necessary to give Mr. Dunn his tea. Susan, when sheheard the knock, rushed from her chair and took refuge up stairs.The widow gave a long sigh and settled her dress. Kate O'Brien withwilling step opened the door, and bade her old friend welcome."How are the ladies?" asked Aaron, trying to gather something fromthe face and voice of the domestic."Miss Hetta and Mr. Beckard be gone off to Utica, just man-and-wifelike! and so they are, more power to them.""Oh indeed; I'm very glad," said Aaron--and so he was; very glad tohave Hetta the demure out of the way. And then he made his way intothe parlour, doubting much, and hoping much.Mrs. Bell rose from her chair, and tried to look grave. Aaronglancing round the room saw that Susan was not there. He walkedstraight up to the widow, and offered her his hand, which she took.It might be that Susan had not thought fit to tell, and in such caseit would not be right for him to compromise her; so he said never aword.But the subject was too important to the mother to allow of herbeing silent when the young man stood before her. "Oh, Mr. Dunn,"said she, "what is this you have been saying to Susan?""I have asked her to be my wife," said he, drawing himself up andlooking her full in the face. Mrs. Bell's heart was almost as softas her daughter's, and it was nearly gone; but at the moment she hadnothing to say but, "Oh dear, oh dear!""May I not call you mother?" said he, taking both her hands in his."Oh dear--oh dear! But will you be good to her? Oh, Aaron Dunn, ifyou deceive my child!"In another quarter of an hour, Susan was kneeling at her mother'sknee, with her face on her mother's lap; the mother was wiping tearsout of her eyes; and Aaron was standing by holding one of thewidow's hands."You are my mother too, now," said he. What would Hetta and Mr.Beckard say, when they came back? But then he surely was not awolf!There were four or five days left for courtship before Hetta and Mr.Beckard would return; four or five days during which Susan might behappy, Aaron triumphant, and Mrs. Bell nervous. Days I have said,but after all it was only the evenings that were so left. Everymorning Susan got up to give Aaron his breakfast, but Mrs. Bell gotup also. Susan boldly declared her right to do so, and Mrs. Bellfound no objection which she could urge.But after that Aaron was always absent till seven or eight in theevening, when he would return to his tea. Then came the hour or twoof lovers' intercourse.But they were very tame, those hours. The widow still felt anundefined fear that she was wrong, and though her heart yearned toknow that her daughter was happy in the sweet happiness of acceptedlove, yet she dreaded to be too confident. Not a word had been saidabout money matters; not a word of Aaron Dunn's relatives. So shedid not leave them by themselves, but waited with what patience shecould for the return of her wise counsellors.And then Susan hardly knew how to behave herself with her acceptedsuitor. She felt that she was very happy; but perhaps she was mosthappy when she was thinking about him through the long day,assisting in fixing little things for his comfort, and waiting forhis evening return. And as he sat there in the parlour, she couldbe happy then too, if she were but allowed to sit still and look athim,--not stare at him, but raise her eyes every now and again tohis face for the shortest possible glance, as she had been used todo ever since he came there.But he, unconscionable lover, wanted to hear her speak, was desirousof being talked to, and perhaps thought that he should by rights beallowed to sit by her, and hold her hand. No such privileges wereaccorded to him. If they had been alone together, walking side byside on the green turf, as lovers should walk, she would soon havefound the use of her tongue,--have talked fast enough no doubt.Under such circumstances, when a girl's shyness has given way toreal intimacy, there is in general no end to her power of chatting.But though there was much love between Aaron and Susan, there was asyet but little intimacy. And then, let a mother be ever somotherly--and no mother could have more of a mother's tendernessthan Mrs. Bell--still her presence must be a restraint. Aaron wasvery fond of Mrs. Bell; but nevertheless he did sometimes wish thatsome domestic duty would take her out of the parlour for a few happyminutes. Susan went out very often, but Mrs. Bell seemed to be afixture.Once for a moment he did find his love alone, immediately as he cameinto the house. "My own Susan, you do love me? do say so to meonce." And he contrived to slip his arm round her waist. "Yes,"she whispered; but she slipped like an eel from his hands, and lefthim only preparing himself for a kiss. And then when she got to herroom, half frightened, she clasped her hands together, and bethoughtherself that she did really love him with a strength and depth oflove which filled her whole existence. Why could she not have toldhim something of all this?And so the few days of his second sojourn at Saratoga passed away,not altogether satisfactorily. It was settled that he should returnto New York on Saturday night, leaving Saratoga on that evening; andas the Beckards--Hetta was already regarded quite as a Beckard--wereto be back to dinner on that day, Mrs. Bell would have anopportunity of telling her wondrous tale. It might be well that Mr.Beckard should see Aaron before his departure.On that Saturday the Beckards did arrive just in time for dinner.It may be imagined that Susan's appetite was not very keen, nor hermanner very collected. But all this passed by unobserved in theimportance attached to the various Beckard arrangements which cameunder discussion. Ladies and gentlemen circumstanced as were Hettaand Mr. Beckard are perhaps a little too apt to think that their ownaffairs are paramount. But after dinner Susan vanished at once, andwhen Hetta prepared to follow her, desirous of further talk aboutmatrimonial arrangements, her mother stopped her, and the disclosurewas made."Proposed to her!" said Hetta, who perhaps thought that one marriagein a family was enough at a time."Yes, my love--and he did it, I must say, in a very honourable way,telling her not to make any answer till she had spoken to me;--nowthat was very nice; was it not, Phineas?" Mrs. Bell had become veryanxious that Aaron should not be voted a wolf."And what has been said to him since?" asked the discreet Phineas."Why--nothing absolutely decisive." Oh, Mrs. Bell! "You see I knownothing as to his means.""Nothing at all," said Hetta."He is a man that will always earn his bread," said Mr. Beckard; andMrs. Bell blessed him in her heart for saying it."But has he been encouraged?" asked Hetta."Well; yes, he has," said the widow."Then Susan I suppose likes him?" asked Phineas."Well; yes, she does," said the widow. And the conference ended ina resolution that Phineas Beckard should have a conversation withAaron Dunn, as to his worldly means and position; and that he,Phineas, should decide whether Aaron might, or might not be at onceaccepted as a lover, according to the tenor of that conversation.Poor Susan was not told anything of all this. "Better not," saidHetta the demure. "It will only flurry her the more." How wouldshe have liked it, if without consulting her, they had left it toAaron to decide whether or no she might marry Phineas?They knew where on the works Aaron was to be found, and thither Mr.Beckard rode after dinner. We need not narrate at length theconference between the young men. Aaron at once declared that hehad nothing but what he made as an engineer, and explained that heheld no permanent situation on the line. He was well paid at thatpresent moment, but at the end of summer he would have to look foremployment."Then you can hardly marry quite at present," said the discreetminister."Perhaps not quite immediately.""And long engagements are never wise," said the other."Three or four months," suggested Aaron. But Mr. Beckard shook hishead.The afternoon at Mrs. Bell's house was melancholy. The finaldecision of the three judges was as follows. There was to be noengagement; of course no correspondence. Aaron was to be told thatit would be better that he should get lodgings elsewhere when hereturned; but that he would be allowed to visit at Mrs. Bell'shouse,--and at Mrs. Beckard's, which was very considerate. If heshould succeed in getting a permanent appointment, and if he andSusan still held the same mind, why then--&c. &c. Such was Susan'sfate, as communicated to her by Mrs. Bell and Hetta. She sat stilland wept when she heard it; but she did not complain. She hadalways felt that Hetta would be against her."Mayn't I see him, then?" she said through her tears.Hetta thought she had better not. Mrs. Bell thought she might.Phineas decided that they might shake hands, but only in fullconclave. There was to be no lovers' farewell. Aaron was to leavethe house at half-past five; but before he went Susan should becalled down. Poor Susan! She sat down and bemoaned herself;uncomplaining, but very sad.Susan was soft, feminine, and manageable. But Aaron Dunn was notvery soft, was especially masculine, and in some matters not easilymanageable. When Mr. Beckard in the widow's presence--Hetta hadretired in obedience to her lover--informed him of the court'sdecision, there came over his face the look which he had worn whenhe burned the picture. "Mrs. Bell," he said, "had encouraged hisengagement; and he did not understand why other people should nowcome and disturb it.""Not an engagement, Aaron," said Mrs. Bell piteously."He was able and willing to work," he said, "and knew hisprofession. What young man of his age had done better than he had?"and he glanced round at them with perhaps more pride than was quitebecoming.Then Mr. Beckard spoke out, very wisely no doubt, but perhaps alittle too much at length. Sons and daughters, as well as fathersand mothers, will know very well what he said; so I need not repeathis words. I cannot say that Aaron listened with much attention,but he understood perfectly what the upshot of it was. Many a manunderstands the purport of many a sermon without listening to oneword in ten. Mr. Beckard meant to be kind in his manner; indeed wasso, only that Aaron could not accept as kindness any interference onhis part."I'll tell you what, Mrs. Bell," said he. "I look upon myself asengaged to her. And I look on her as engaged to me. I tell you sofairly; and I believe that's her mind as well as mine.""But, Aaron, you won't try to see her--or to write to her,--not insecret; will you?""When I try to see her, I'll come and knock at this door; and if Iwrite to her, I'll write to her full address by the post. I neverdid and never will do anything in secret.""I know you're good and honest," said the widow with herhandkerchief to her eyes."Then why do you separate us?" asked he, almost roughly. "I supposeI may see her at any rate before I go. My time's nearly up now, Iguess."And then Susan was called for, and she and Hetta came down together.Susan crept in behind her sister. Her eyes were red with weeping,and her appearance was altogether disconsolate. She had had a loverfor a week, and now she was to be robbed of him."Good-bye, Susan," said Aaron, and he walked up to her withoutbashfulness or embarrassment. Had they all been compliant andgracious to him he would have been as bashful as his love; but nowhis temper was hot. "Good-bye, Susan," and she took his hand, andhe held hers till he had finished. "And remember this, I look uponyou as my promised wife, and I don't fear that you'll deceive me.At any rate I shan't deceive you.""Good-bye, Aaron," she sobbed."Good-bye, and God bless you, my own darling!" And then withoutsaying a word to any one else, he turned his back upon them and wenthis way.There had been something very consolatory, very sweet, to the poorgirl in her lover's last words. And yet they had almost made hertremble. He had been so bold, and stern, and confident. He hadseemed so utterly to defy the impregnable discretion of Mr. Beckard,so to despise the demure propriety of Hetta. But of this she feltsure, when she came to question her heart, that she could never,never, never cease to love him better than all the world beside.She would wait--patiently if she could find patience--and then, ifhe deserted her, she would die.In another month Hetta became Mrs. Beckard. Susan brisked up alittle for the occasion, and looked very pretty as bridesmaid. Shewas serviceable too in arranging household matters, hemming linenand sewing table-cloths; though of course in these matters she didnot do a tenth of what Hetta did.Then the summer came, the Saratoga summer of July, August, andSeptember, during which the widow's house was full; and Susan'shands saved the pain of her heart, for she was forced intooccupation. Now that Hetta was gone to her own duties, it wasnecessary that Susan's part in the household should be moreprominent.Aaron did not come back to his work at Saratoga. Why he did notthey could not then learn. During the whole long summer they heardnot a word of him nor from him; and then when the cold winter monthscame and their boarders had left them, Mrs. Beckard congratulatedher sister in that she had given no further encouragement to a loverwho cared so little for her. This was very hard to bear. But Susandid bear it.That winter was very sad. They learned nothing of Aaron Dunn tillabout January; and then they heard that he was doing very well. Hewas engaged on the Erie trunk line, was paid highly, and was muchesteemed. And yet he neither came nor sent! "He has an excellentsituation," their informant told them. "And a permanent one?" askedthe widow. "Oh, yes, no doubt," said the gentleman, "for I happento know that they count greatly on him." And yet he sent no word oflove.After that the winter became very sad indeed. Mrs. Bell thought itto be her duty now to teach her daughter that in all probability shewould see Aaron Dunn no more. It was open to him to leave herwithout being absolutely a wolf. He had been driven from the housewhen he was poor, and they had no right to expect that he wouldreturn, now that he had made some rise in the world. "Men do amusethemselves in that way," the widow tried to teach her."He is not like that, mother," she said again."But they do not think so much of these things as we do," urged themother."Don't they?" said Susan, oh, so sorrowfully; and so through thewhole long winter months she became paler and paler, and thinner andthinner.And then Hetta tried to console her with religion, and that perhapsdid not make things any better. Religious consolation is the bestcure for all griefs; but it must not be looked for specially withregard to any individual sorrow. A religious man, should he becomebankrupt through the misfortunes of the world, will find trueconsolation in his religion even for that sorrow. But a bankrupt,who has not thought much of such things, will hardly find solace bytaking up religion for that special occasion.And Hetta perhaps was hardly prudent in her attempts. She thoughtthat it was wicked in Susan to grow thin and pale for love of AaronDunn, and she hardly hid her thoughts. Susan was not sure but thatit might be wicked, but this doubt in no way tended to make herplump or rosy. So that in those days she found no comfort in hersister.But her mother's pity and soft love did ease her sufferings, thoughit could not make them cease. Her mother did not tell her that shewas wicked, or bid her read long sermons, or force her to go oftenerto the meeting-house."He will never come again, I think," she said one day, as with ashawl wrapped around her shoulders, she leant with her head upon hermother's bosom."My own darling," said the mother, pressing her child closely to herside."You think he never will, eh, mother?" What could Mrs. Bell say?In her heart of hearts she did not think he ever would come again."No, my child. I do not think he will." And then the hot tears randown, and the sobs came thick and frequent."My darling, my darling!" exclaimed the mother; and they wepttogether."Was I wicked to love him at the first," she asked that night."No, my child; you were not wicked at all. At least I think not.""Then why--" Why was he sent away? It was on her tongue to askthat question; but she paused and spared her mother. This was asthey were going to bed. The next morning Susan did not get up. Shewas not ill, she said; but weak and weary. Would her mother let herlie that day? And then Mrs. Bell went down alone to her room, andsorrowed with all her heart for the sorrow of her child. Why, ohwhy, had she driven away from her door-sill the love of an honestman?On the next morning Susan again did not get up;--nor did she hear,or if she heard she did not recognise, the step of the postman whobrought a letter to the door. Early, before the widow's breakfast,the postman came, and the letter which he brought was as follows:-

　　"My Dear Mrs. Bell,"I have now got a permanent situation on the Erie line, and thesalary is enough for myself and a wife. At least I think so, and Ihope you will too. I shall be down at Saratoga to-morrow evening,and I hope neither Susan nor you will refuse to receive me."Yours affectionately,

　　"Aaron Dunn."

　　That was all. It was very short, and did not contain one word oflove; but it made the widow's heart leap for joy. She was ratherafraid that Aaron was angry, he wrote so curtly and with such abrusque business-like attention to mere facts; but surely he couldhave but one object in coming there. And then he alluded speciallyto a wife. So the widow's heart leapt with joy.But how was she to tell Susan? She ran up stairs almost breathlesswith haste, to the bedroom door; but then she stopped; too much joyshe had heard was as dangerous as too much sorrow; she must think itover for a while, and so she crept back again.But after breakfast--that is, when she had sat for a while over herteacup--she returned to the room, and this time she entered it. Theletter was in her hand, but held so as to be hidden;--in her lefthand as she sat down with her right arm towards the invalid."Susan dear," she said, and smiled at her child, "you'll be able toget up this morning? eh, dear?""Yes, mother," said Susan, thinking that her mother objected to thisidleness of her lying in bed. And so she began to bestir herself."I don't mean this very moment, love. Indeed, I want to sit withyou for a little while," and she put her right arm affectionatelyround her daughter's waist."Dearest mother," said Susan."Ah! there's one dearer than me, I guess," and Mrs. Bell smiledsweetly, as she made the maternal charge against her daughter.Susan raised herself quickly in the bed, and looked straight intoher mother's face. "Mother, mother," she said, "what is it? You'vesomething to tell. Oh, mother!" And stretching herself over, shestruck her hand against the corner of Aaron's letter. "Mother,you've a letter. Is he coming, mother?" and with eager eyes andopen lips, she sat up, holding tight to her mother's arm."Yes, love. I have got a letter.""Is he--is he coming?"How the mother answered, I can hardly tell; but she did answer, andthey were soon lying in each other's arms, warm with each other'stears. It was almost hard to say which was the happier.Aaron was to be there that evening--that very evening. "Oh, mother,let me get up," said Susan.But Mrs. Bell said no, not yet; her darling was pale and thin, andshe almost wished that Aaron was not coming for another week. Whatif he should come and look at her, and finding her beauty gone,vanish again and seek a wife elsewhere!So Susan lay in bed, thinking of her happiness, dozing now andagain, and fearing as she waked that it was a dream, lookingconstantly at that drawing of his, which she kept outside upon thebed, nursing her love and thinking of it, and endeavouring, vainlyendeavouring, to arrange what she would say to him."Mother," she said, when Mrs. Bell once went up to her, "you won'ttell Hetta and Phineas, will you? Not to-day, I mean?" Mrs. Bellagreed that it would be better not to tell them. Perhaps shethought that she had already depended too much on Hetta and Phineasin the matter.Susan's finery in the way of dress had never been extensive, and nowlately, in these last sad winter days, she had thought but little ofthe fashion of her clothes. But when she began to dress herself forthe evening, she did ask her mother with some anxiety what she hadbetter wear. "If he loves you he will hardly see what you have on,"said the mother. But not the less was she careful to smooth herdaughter's hair, and make the most that might be made of those fadedroses.How Susan's heart beat,--how both their hearts beat as the hands ofthe clock came round to seven! And then, sharp at seven, came theknock; that same short bold ringing knock which Susan had so soonlearned to know as belonging to Aaron Dunn. "Oh mother, I hadbetter go up stairs," she cried, starting from her chair."No dear; you would only be more nervous.""I will, mother.""No, no, dear; you have not time;" and then Aaron Dunn was in theroom.She had thought much what she would say to him, but had not yetquite made up her mind. It mattered however but very little. Onwhatever she might have resolved, her resolution would have vanishedto the wind. Aaron Dunn came into the room, and in one second shefound herself in the centre of a whirlwind, and his arms were thestorms that enveloped her on every side."My own, own darling girl," he said over and over again, as hepressed her to his heart, quite regardless of Mrs. Bell, who stoodby, sobbing with joy. "My own Susan.""Aaron, dear Aaron," she whispered. But she had already recognisedthe fact that for the present meeting a passive part would becomeher well, and save her a deal of trouble. She had her lover therequite safe, safe beyond anything that Mr. or Mrs. Beckard might haveto say to the contrary. She was quite happy; only that there weresymptoms now and again that the whirlwind was about to engulf heryet once more."Dear Aaron, I am so glad you are come," said the innocent-mindedwidow, as she went up stairs with him, to show him his room; andthen he embraced her also. "Dear, dear mother," he said.On the next day there was, as a matter of course, a family conclave.Hetta and Phineas came down, and discussed the whole subject of thecoming marriage with Mrs. Bell. Hetta at first was not quitecertain;--ought they not to inquire whether the situation waspermanent?"I won't inquire at all," said Mrs. Bell, with an energy thatstartled both the daughter and son-in-law. "I would not part themnow; no, not if--" and the widow shuddered as she thought of herdaughter's sunken eyes, and pale cheeks."He is a good lad," said Phineas, "and I trust she will make him asober steady wife;" and so the matter was settled.During this time, Susan and Aaron were walking along the Balstonroad; and they also had settled the matter--quite as satisfactorily.Such was the courtship of Susan Dunn.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *

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