"Why, Amos, the cows is milked and the cream is nigh about riz."
That night, after all had retired except the deacon and Walter, the former said to his grandson:
"I was telling her of my father, and why he went away," returned Walter.
The deacon groaned as he always did when that subject was mentioned,--then after a moment he added:
"I am glad it was no worse,--that is, I'm glad you are not betraying Mr. Graham's trust by making love to his daughter."
Walter was very pale, but he did not speak, and his grandfather continued:
"I am old, Walter, but I have not forgotten the days when I was young; and remembering my disposition then, I can see why you should love Jessie Graham. God bless her! She's worthy of any man's best love, and she's wound herself round my old heart till the sound of her voice is sweet to me almost as Ellen's; but she isn't for you, Walter. I know Mr. Graham better than you do. He's noble and good, but very proud, and the daughter of a millionaire must never marry the son of a poor----"
"Don't!" cried Walter, catching his grandfather's arm. "I understand it all,--I know that I am poor, know what the world says of my father, and I will suffer through all time sooner than ask the bright-faced Jessie to share one iota of our shame. But were my father innocent, I would never rest until I made myself a name which even Jessie Graham would not despise, for I love her, grandpa,--love her better than my life," and as after this confession he could not look his grandfather in the face, he stared hard at the candle dying in its socket, as if he would fain read there some token that what he so much desired would one day come to pass.
And he did read it too, for with a last great effort the expiring flame sent up a flash of light, which shone on Walter's face and that of the gray-haired man regarding him with a look of tender pity. Then it passed away, and the darkness fell between them just as the old man said, mournfully:
"There is no hope, my boy,--no hope for you."
The good lady sat in her chamber wiping the perspiration from her ruddy face, and occasionally peering out into the pleasant street, with a longing desire to escape from her self-imposed prison, and breathe the air again in her accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it should be discovered that she was not away from home and enjoying some little pent-up room in the third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, too, she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the fresh, green grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie was really enjoying herself, without the trouble of dressing three times a day, and then swelling with vexation because some one else out-did her.