'Allow me,' she added, going towards a window,--as though she
desired more light, but in reality, I knew, to turn her back upon
me,--forgetting that a mirror, hanging opposite, would reveal her face
with distinctness to my gaze.
"It was pale to ghastliness, with a drawn, haggard look about the mouth
and eyes that shocked as much as it amazed me; and before commencing to
read she crushed the letter in her hands, pressing it to her heart with
a gesture which was less of a caress than of a spasm.
"However, as she read, all this changed; and before she finished said,
'Ah, Willie, it is clear your cause needs no advocate.' Positively, I
did not know a human countenance could express such happiness; there was
something in it absolutely dazzling. And evidently entirely forgetful of
me, she raised the paper to her mouth, and kissed it again and again,
pressing her lips upon it with such clinging and passionate fondness as
would have imbued it with life were that possible."
Here Willie flung down his aunt's epistle and tore from his pocket this
self-same letter. He had kept it,--carried it about with him,--for two
reasons: because it was _hers_, he said,--this avowal of his love was
hers, whether she refused it or no, and he had no right to destroy her
property; and because, as he had nothing else she had worn or touched,
he cherished this sacredly since it had been in her dear hands.
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