Wlliam Gilmore Simms
Joscelyn: A Tale of the Revolution >> Chapter XXVIII: Grace and Stephen >> Page 248

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Novel (Romance) | The Reprint Company | 1975, 1976
Transcription 248JOSCELYN
Stephen was still solicitous for her, and would have supported her
back to the dwelling, but she would not.
"I am better �I am quite well, now, Stephen. I don't know how
it was that I became faint so suddenly."
When assured that she was recovered, when, in brief, she had re-
sumed that calm, gentle, placidly resigned woman by which he had
always known her, he said, lifting up the package which had been
lying at the foot of the tree :
"You asked me, Grace, months ago, to make you some fine pens,
and I take shame to myself for having neglected them so long. I
have brought them now, with a little supply of paper, wafers, and
ink. There is enough here for all the family, and it may be long
before I can again supply you."
"Oh! thank you, Stephen. Are you going already?"
"I must. Thank you, Grace, for so kindly coming to meet me. I
should not have taxed you to do so, but that there was no other
mode of giving you this information without endangering what is
possibly a secret of much interest to your mother. Good-bye, Grace."
"Good�good-bye, Stephen."
The voice again faltered. The long, taper-fingers trembled, as his
hand closed over them; and her face, could he have seen it, would
have shown itself as pallid as at first it had been flushed with the
hues of the carnation. How little did he conceive of that drama of
the sensibilities through which her poor yearning heart had gone, in
that small fragment of time which they had spent together.
Slowly she went from sight, slowly, sadly; but with a sweet sensa-
tion of a new kind, which kept trembling in all her arterial pulses.
And he! Poor Stephen!
He did not watch her departing progress, nor note with what re-
luctant steps she passed from his sight. His eyes, with intense stare,
were fastened upon the windows of that southwest chamber, where
flickered the faint light of one little lamp, shadowed, at moments, by
the flitting of a female form, between its faint glimmer and his
straining gaze.
In a quarter of an hour more, he was j oined by Dick Marvin, and
the two rode home together, Stephen Joscelyn yielding to him the
exclusive field of speech, for which the eloquence of Dick Marvin
was duly grateful, as he recounted the long dialogue which he had