The Editer of the Auger followed my mournful gaze, and I was surprised to see the change in his but’nut eye as it met hers, from what it had been in more former times preceedin’. For whereas he had always looked at her with fear and almost agonizin’ aprehension, as if he realized his danger, now he looked full in her face, as she smiled across the room at him, with a proud haughty and triumphant mene on him I could not understand. He gazed at her silently for I should think pretty near a half a minute and then he turned to me with a sweet, contented smile curvin’ his moustache--which had been colored a new bright black,--and says he to me with a peaceful and serene look on to Betsey,
“How sweet it is Josiah Allen’s wife for a noble but storm tosted bark to anchor in a beautiful calm. How sweet it is, when you see the ravenin’ tempest a smilin’ at you, I mean a lowerin’ at you, in the distance, to feel that it can’t harm you--that you are beyond its reach. To see it in its former dread power a drawin’ near--” (Betsey had started to come towards us,) “and feel that you are safe from it. Josiah Allen’s wife I feel safe and happy to night.”
Betsey was stopped for the minute by Deacon Gowdey, but I knew it was only a momentary respite, and knowin’ her design, how could I answer? I could only look gloomy into his face, and think sadly, Ah! how little we know when trials and dangers are ahead of us, how little we know when we are goin’ to be encouraged.
But he continued on in the same sweet happy triumphin’ tones,
“Josiah Allen’s wife, I believe you are my friend.”
“Yes! and your well wisher,” and says I almost wildly, “whatever comes, whatever may happen to you, remember that I wished you well, and I pitied you.”
“Instead of pityin’ me, wish me joy,” and he held out his right hand towards me.
I haint no hypocrite, and knowin’ what I knew, how could I be so deceitful? I hung back and gripped holt of a breadth of my dress with my right hand.
Says he, “I am married, Josiah Allen’s wife, I was married a week ago to-night.”
I grasped holt of his right hand which he still held out, with my right hand, and says I, “you take a load off’en my mind. Who too?”
Says he, “the prettiest girl in Log London where father lives.”