seemed to her that the pain in her heart would put an endto her in spite of all her prayers for Christian fortitude; and yetshe could not help reading it again.
It was seldom that she stole a look at her old lover as he stood inthe pulpit in the meeting-house, but when she did she thought with ananxious pang that he looked worn and ill, and that night she prayedthat the Lord would restore his health to him for the sake of hispeople.
It was four months after Evelina Adams's death, and her garden was inthe full glory of midsummer, when one evening, towards dusk, youngEvelina went slowly down the street. She seldom walked abroad now,but kept herself almost as secluded as her cousin had done beforeher. But that night a great restlessness was upon her, and she put alittle black silk shawl over her shoulders and went out. It was quitecool, although it was midsummer. The dusk was deepening fast; thekatydids called back and forth from the wayside bushes. Evelina metnobody for some distance. Then she saw a man coming towards her, andher heart stood still, and she was about to turn back, for shethought for a minute it was the young minister. Then she saw it washis father, and she went on slowly, with her eyes downcast. When shemet him she looked up and said good-evening, gravely, and would havepassed on, but he stood in her way.
"I've got a word to say to ye, if ye'll listen," he said.
Evelina looked at him tremblingly. There was something strained andsolemn in his manner. "I'll hear whatever you have to say, sir," shesaid.
The old man leaned his pale face over her and raised a shakingforefinger. "I've made up my mind to say something," said he. "Idon't know as I've got any right to, and maybe my son will blame me,but I'm goin' to see that you have a chance. It's been borne in uponme that women folks don't always have a fair chance. It's jest thisI'm goin' to say: I don't know whether you know how my son feelsabout it or not. I don't know how open he's been with you. Do youknow jest why he quit you?"
Evelina shook her head. "No," she panted--"I don't--I never knew. Hesaid it was his duty."
"Duty can get to be an idol of wood and stone, an' I don't know butThomas's is," said the old man. "Well, I'll tell you. He don't thinkit's right for him to marry you, and make you leave that big house,and lose all that money. He don't care anything about it for himself,but it's for you. Did you know that?"
Evelina grasped the old man's arm hard with her little fingers.
"You don't mean that--was why he did it!" she gasped.
"Yes, that was why."
Evelina drew away from him. She was ashamed to have Thomas's fathersee the joy in her face. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I did notunderstand. I--will write to him."
"Maybe my son will think I have done wrong coming betwixt him and hisidees of duty," said old Thomas Merriam, "but sometimes there's agood deal lost for lack of a word, and I wanted you to have a fairchance an' a fair say. It's been borne in upon me that women folksdon't always have it. Now you can do jest as you think best, but youmust remember one thing--riches ain't all. A little likin' for youthat's goin' to last, and keep honest and faithful to you as long asyou live, is worth more; an' it's worth more to women folks than 'tis to men, an' it's worth enough to them. My son's poorly. His motherand I are worried about him. He don't eat nor sleep--walks hischamber nights. His mother don't know what the matter is, but he leton to me some time since."
"I'll write a letter to him," gasped Evelina again. "Good-night,sir." She pulled her little black silk shawl over her head andhastened home, and all night long her candle burned, while her wearylittle fingers toiled over pages of foolscap-paper to convince ThomasMerriam fully, and yet in terms not exceeding maidenly reserve, thatthe love of his heart and the companionship of his life were worthmore to her than all the silver and gold in the world. Then the nextmorning she despatched it, all neatly folded and sealed, and waited.
It was strange that a letter like that could not have moved ThomasMerriam, when his heart too pleaded with him so hard to be moved. Butthat might have been the very reason why he could withstand her, andwhy the consciousness of his own weakness gave him strength. ThomasMerriam was one, when he had once fairly laid hold of duty, to graspit hard, although it might be to his own pain and death, and maybe tothat of others. He wrote to poor young Evelina another letter, inwhich he emphasized and repeated his strict adherence to what hebelieved the line of duty in their separation, and ended it with aprayer for her welfare and happiness, in which, indeed, for a second,the passionate heart of the man showed forth. Then he locked himselfin his chamber, and nobody ever knew what he suffered there. But onepang he did not suffer which Evelina would have suffered in hisplace. He mourned not over nor realized the grief of her tender heartwhen she should read his letter, otherwise he could not have sent it.He writhed under his own pain alone, and his duty hugged him hard,like the iron maiden of the old tortures, but he would not yield.
As for Evelina, when she got his letter, and had read it through, shesat still and white for a long time, and did not seem to hear whenold Sarah Judd spoke to her. But at last she rose and went to herchamber, and knelt down, and prayed for a long time; and then shewent out in the garden and cut all the most beautiful flowers, andtied them in wreaths and bouquets, and carried them out to the northside of the house, where her cousin Evelina was buried, and coveredher grave with them. And then she knelt down there, and hid her faceamong them, and said, in a low voice, as if in a listening ear, "Ipray you, Cousin Evelina, forgive me for what I am about to do."
And then she returned to the house, and sat at her needlework asusual; but the old woman kept looking at her, and asking if she weresick, for there was a strange look in her face.
She and old Sarah Judd had always their tea at five o'clock, and putthe candles out at nine, and this night they did as they were wont.But at one o'clock in the morning young Evelina stole softly down thestairs with her lighted candle, and passed through into the kitchen;and a half-hour after she came forth into the garden, which lay infull moonlight, and she had in her hand a steaming teakettle, and shepassed around among the shrubs and watered them, and a white cloud ofsteam rose around them. Back and forth she went to the kitchen; forshe had heated the great copper wash-kettle full of water; and shewatered all the shrubs in the garden, moving amid curling whitewreaths of steam, until the water was gone. And then she set to workand tore up by the roots with her little hands and trampled with herlittle feet all the beautiful tender flower-beds; all the timeweeping, and moaning softly: "Poor Cousin Evelina! poor CousinEvelina! Oh, forgive me, poor Cousin Evelina!"
And at dawn the garden lay in ruin, for all the tender plants she hadtorn up by the roots and trampled down, and all the stronger-rootedshrubs she had striven to kill with boiling water and salt.
Then Evelina went into the house, and made herself tidy as well asshe could when she trembled so, and put her little shawl over herhead, and went down the road to the Merriams' house. It was so earlythe village was scarcely astir, but there was smoke coming out of thekitchen chimney at the Merriams'; and when she knocked, Mrs. Merriamopened the door at once, and stared at her.
"Is Sarah Judd dead?" she cried; for her first thought was thatsomething must have happened when she saw the girl standing therewith her wild pale face.
"I want to see the minister," said Evelina, faintly, and she lookedat Thomas's mother with piteous eyes.
"Be you sick?" asked Mrs. Merriam. She laid a hard hand on the girl'sarm, and led her into the sitting-room, and put her into therocking-chair with the feather cushion. "You look real poorly," saidshe. "Sha'n't I get you a little of my elderberry wine?"
"I want to see him," said Evelina, and she almost sobbed.
"I'll go right and speak to him," said Mrs. Merriam. "He's up, Iguess. He gets up early to write. But hadn't I better get yousomething to take first? You do look sick."
But Evelina only shook her head. She had her face covered with herhands, and was weeping softly. Mrs. Merriam left the room, with along backward glance at her. Presently the door opened and Thomascame in. Evelina stood u
p before him. Her pale face was all wet withtears, but there was an air of strange triumph about her.
"The garden is dead," said she.
"What do you mean?" he cried out, staring at her, for indeed hethought for a minute that her wits had left her.
"The garden is dead," said she. "Last night I watered the roses withboiling water and salt, and I pulled the other flowers up by theirroots. The garden is dead, and I have lost all Cousin Evelina'smoney, and it need not come between us any longer." She said that,and looked