  During the evening after Barclugh had asked the consent of Dr. Greydon, an air of expectancy pervaded all except Mollie. Dr. Greydon had told his wife about Barclugh’s request and she realized the importance of this day to her darling daughter, who was one of the flowers of the earth in her sight. A mother rejoices in the proper selection of a husband by her daughter, and Mrs. Greydon, one of those good, wholesome souls, believed in whatever her husband proposed, so that when the Doctor informed his wife of Barclugh’s intentions, she simply said: “Thou knowest best what is right, William;” and was satisfied to rest on his wisdom. Mollie was utterly oblivious to the ordeal in store for her on this particular evening. She was more witchy and poked more lively sallies at Barclugh during the dinner than she ever had before on any one occasion, but Barclugh blushed and took the pleasantries good-naturedly. Yet Mollie noticed that she was doing most of the talking, and wondered to herself why everybody was so sober and she so lively. Nevertheless, When the dinner was finished, Mollie said: “I have the prettiest ode of Horace that I was translating before dinner, and I must have papa and mamma and you, Mr. Barclugh, come to the library and I will read it to you.” So Barclugh offered Mollie his arm, and Dr. Greydon his to his wife, and the four went up the great staircase to the library. Mollie went to the book-shelves, while the others seated themselves on the carved oak settles, facing each other before the great fireplace. Mollie took the edition of Horace and seated herself at the head of the large library table and began to read: INTACTIS OPULENTIOR “Though India’s virgin mine, And wealth of Araby be thine; Though thy wave-circled palaces Usurp the Tyrrhene and Apulian seas, When on thy devoted head The iron hand of Fate has laid The symbols of eternal doom, What power shall loose the fetters of the dead? What hope dispel the terrors of the tomb? “Happy the nomad tribes whose wains Drag their rude huts o’er Scythian plains; Happier the Gaetan horde To whom unmeasured fields afford Abundant harvests, pastures free: For one short year they toil, Then claim once more their liberty, And yield to other hands the unexhausted soil. “The tender-hearted stepdame there Nurtures with all a mother’s care The orphan babe: no wealthy bride Insults her lord, or yields her heart To the sleek suitor’s glozing art. The maiden’s dower is purity, Her parent’s worth, her womanly pride, To hate the sin, to scorn the lie, Chastely to live, or, if dishonored, die. “Breathes there a patriot, brave and strong, Would right his erring country’s wrong, Would heal her wounds and quell her rage? Let him, with noble daring, first Curb Faction’s tyranny accurst, So may some future age Grave on his bust with pious hand, The Father of his Native Land, Virtue yet living we despise, Adore it, lost and vanished from our eyes. “Cease idle wail! The sin unpunished, what can sighs avail? How weak the laws by man ordained If Virtue’s law be unsustained. A second sin is thine. The sand Of Araby, Gaetulia’s sun-scorched land; The desolate regions of Hyperborean ice, Call with one voice to wrinkled Avarice: He hears; he feels no toil, nor sword, nor sea, Shrinks from no disgrace but virtuous poverty. “Forth! ’mid a shouting nation bring Thy precious gems, thy wealth untold; Into the seas or temple fling Thy vile unprofitable gold. Roman, repent, and from within Eradicate thy darling sin; Repent, and from thy bosom tear The sordid shame that festers there. “Bid thy degenerate sons to learn In rougher schools a lesson stern. The high-born youth, mature in vice, Pursues his vain and reckless course, Rolls the Greek hoop, or throws the dice, But shuns and dreads the horse. His perjured sire, with jealous care, Heaps riches for his worthless heir, “Despised, disgraced, supremely blest, Cheating his partner, friend, and guest, Uncounted stores his bursting coffers fill; But something unpossessed is ever wanting still.” At the conclusion of the ode, Dr. Greydon remarked: “Mollie, there is much wisdom in our Latin poets. Simplicity and virtuous lives are the safeguards of nations. When Horace sang, the Roman people began to feel the dangers of wealth and riotous living; may our own country escape these baneful influences.” Mrs. Greydon looked at her daughter with loving eyes when she had finished her translation, and turning to Mr. Barclugh, said as she arose to leave the young people to themselves: “Mr. Barclugh, we take much pleasure in our Mollie’s preaching. We hope that she will not bore you. “You will pardon the Doctor and me for retiring so soon, but we have many duties to perform.” The Doctor and Mrs. Greydon then left the library to allow the young people to have their own conversation. When Dr. and Mrs. Greydon had left Roderick Barclugh and their daughter to their fates, Barclugh “Miss Greydon, I wish to address you on a subject that is most dear to my life. I——” “Why, Mr. Barclugh, what is it that you mean?” interrupted Mollie as she put down her book. “Miss Greydon, I believe that I could recover my former health more quickly if I could settle one thing in my mind,” continued Barclugh. “I am sure that if there is anything to be done you ought to do so at once, Mr. Barclugh, for you have been a very ill man,” returned Mollie, as she looked at him and saw that peculiar expression that she had noticed in his eyes when he sat opposite her at the breakfast table two months before. Roderick Barclugh now looked at Mollie, who instantly felt that some great ordeal was impending. He arose and took Mollie’s hands in both of his as he knelt at her side, and pleaded: “Miss Greydon, I have loved you since that day I first met you at your father’s table. My life is a void without your presence at my side. Will you be my wife?” he asked as he took Mollie’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Mollie sat in her chair as though she were At length Barclugh pleaded: “Speak! Mollie, speak! My heart and my life go out to you with sincerity and love! Will you consent to be my bride, and make me the most favored man on earth?” Mollie arose and went to the other end of the library table, and looking at her lover said: “It is impossible that you could love me, Mr. Barclugh. I am a Quakeress.” “That matters not, my dear Mollie. I have learned that God’s loving kindness resides within the hearts of your people. I was saved from an untimely death by the love and kindness of your dear father, and I know that you had no less to do with it than he. So I feel that I am the one to be unworthy of any affection that your heart possesses,” contended Barclugh. “I am highly complimented, Mr. Barclugh, by your kindly and unexpected attentions to me, but I feel so unable to render any one happy that I could not answer you at once. I must have time for meditation and consultation with my parents.” “There is no reason, dearest, why you ought Mollie sat down at the end of the table, buried her face in her arms and began to sob and weep pitifully, and Barclugh stood disconsolately at the other end of the table. At length Barclugh went to the end of the table where Mollie sat, and taking her hand in his, he knelt at her side, and pleaded earnestly: “Mollie, will you satisfy the longing of my heart by promising me that you will answer me in a month? Just give me a ray of hope, that I may live for your sake. Mollie, just promise me, just promise.” Between the sobs that fairly tore the heart’s moorings of Barclugh, Mollie replied, feebly: “In a month, Mr. Barclugh.” Barclugh then took her hand and kissed it until he was beside himself; then he arose and left Mollie alone in the library. He resolved to go to his own lodgings the next morning, determined to win his loved one by the ardor of his attentions. Mollie’s supersensitive mind was overcome |
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