While I was thus sitting, all alone save for Dolly in the Kitchen, and Master Blower on the first Story, Mark comes in and gives me a Posy, saying, “Violet sends you these Flowers:” and then remained, with his Hand resting on the Back of my Chair.

I know not how long we thus remained, quite silent, and I conscious of great Pleasure in his Presence; till at last, for want of Anything more important to say, I observed, “How pleasant the Evening Air is coming over the Water!”

“Very,” said he, without seeming to be thinking much about it: and again we were both quiet.

“Cousin,” said he at length, in a very gentle Voice,—which was not his usual Way of addressing me, for in common he called me Cherry,—

—“Dear Cousin, I have something to say to you”—and stopped.

“What is it, Mark?” said I, softly.

“We have lived long together,” began he again, faintly laughing, “and I never felt afraid of speaking to you, before—How odd it is that I should feel so, now!”

“What have you to be afraid about?” said I, looking up at him: on which he coloured and looked away; and I did the same, without knowing why.

“You have always been my Friend,” resumed he, taking Courage; “you will not be angry with me?”

“Why should I?” said I. “Is there Anything to be angry about?”

“Perhaps you may think so,” said he, “when you come to know all. Dear Cherry, I’m in Love!” And laughed, and then was silent.

I never felt so perplexed what to say next. “I don’t see that is any Matter of mine,” said I at length.

“Don’t you, though? But that depends upon whom I’m in Love with!” said he, smiling. “If it were with Anybody a hundred Miles off, that you had never seen or heard of, you might say it was no Matter of yours; but, Cherry, she’s not one Mile off! She’s the prettiest Girl on the Bridge!”

“Then,” said I, turning scarlet as I spoke, “it must certainly be Violet Armytage!”

“It is!” cried he rapturously. “What a Guesser you are!—Dear Cherry!”

Oh! what a Bound my Heart gave; and then seemed to stop! For,—I’m only speaking to myself; to myself I may own the Truth—I had not thought he meant Violet!

“Ah,” said he, after a long Silence, which I was as unable as he was disinclined to break, “I dare say you’ve seen it all along—I may have told you no News—you are such a good Secret-keeper, Cherry!”

I could not yet say a Word—He had taken my Hand and wrung it; and I gently pressed his in Sign of Sympathy; it was all I could do, but it was quite enough.

“How kind you are!” said he. “What do you think my Uncle will say?”

“What do you think her Father will say?” said I faintly.

“We are not going to tell him just yet,” returned he, “nor yet her Mother.”

“That sounds bad, Mark——”

“Nay, Cherry, you know how crazy the old Lady is to have Braidfoot for her Son-in-law; she’ll find in Time he won’t come forward, and Violet will take care he shall not, for she will give him no Encouragement; but, till her Mother finds it won’t do, there’s no Use in my speaking, for you know I have nothing to marry upon, yet.”

“When shall you have?” said I.

“When?” repeated he, looking a little annoyed. “Why, some of these Days, as the Saying is. You know I am thorough Master of my Business now, have served my time, receive good Wages, and am very useful to your Father. Who knows but that, as Time goes on, he’ll take me for a Partner, and finally retire from Business?”

“Ah, Mark, so little comes in now, that he will have nothing to retire upon. We can but just go on as we do.”

“Well,” said he, laughing, with a little Embarrassment, “perhaps Mistress Glossop will take me into Partnership. I’m a Favourite in that Quarter.”

“Mistress Glossop! Oh, Mark!”

“Nay, Cherry, don’t you see, if old Master Armytage takes a Fancy to me, he may make it worth her while to do so, for the Sake of his ‘sweet Wi-let’?”

“Ah, Mark, Master Armytage is himself in a very small Way of Business—nothing at all to compare with Mistress Glossop’s. We love and esteem them for old Acquaintance sake, but she looks quite down upon them. There are so many small Haberdashers on the Bridge!”

“Well, the smaller he is, the less Reason he will have to look down upon me. I suppose you don’t mean to say, Cherry, that no young Man thinks of Marriage unless he is better off than I am?”

“So far from it, Mark, that I cannot see what Right the Armytages have to expect a better Match for their Daughter; and therefore I think it a Pity there should be any Concealment.”

“Marry come up!” cries he, “I would rather draw a Double-tooth for a fiery Dragon than tell Master Armytage I was Suitor for his sweet Wi-let!”

“Why, you will have to tell him sooner or later,” said I.

“Not ... not if we wait till he dies,” said Mark.

“Dies! oh, Mark!”——

“It’s ill, reckoning on dead Men’s Shoes, I own,” said he, looking rather ashamed.

“It’s unfeeling and indelicate in the highest Degree,” said I. “Why should not Violet tell her Father?”

“Ah, Cherry, she will not; and what’s more, she has made me solemnly promise that I will not, at present; so you see there’s no more to be said. We must just go on, hoping and waiting, as many young Couples have done before us; knowing that we love one another—and is not that, for a While at least, enough?”

I faintly said, “Yes.”

“You don’t speak so heartily, though, as I thought you would,” said he. “Don’t you sympathize with us, Cherry?”

I looked up at him with a Smile, though my Lip quivered, and said fervently, “Oh, yes!”

“That’s right!” said he gladly. “Now I shall feel that, whether Things go rough or smooth with me, you take cordial Part in them. God bless you, Cherry! And if ever I’m in any little Difficulty with Violet, I shall come to you for Advice and Help, rely upon it!—Hark, there is your Mother’s Bell.”

I ran off, glad to leave him; and found my Mother coughing, and in want of some Water. When she had recovered herself, and composed herself again to Sleep, I sat by her Casement, looking out on the same Scene I had been gazing on an Hour before; but oh! with what different Feelings!

The Trouble of my Soul taught me how much I had cared for him, what Expectations I had nourished of him, what Disappointment I felt in him. All was changed, all was shivered: never to be built up again! And yet no one knew what Hopes were wrecked within me.—The World was going on just the same!

I thought how kind my Father and Mother had been to him, and how likely it was they had hoped he would marry me, and how certainly, in that case, my Father would have shared his Business with him.

I thought how dull and forlorn a Place the World would now seem to me, but resolved they should never know it. I would go on, in all Respects, just the same.

Large Tears were flowing unrestrained down my Cheeks, when Master Blower’s Bell, having been once rung already, was now pulled again with some Impatience; and as Dolly had stepped out, I answered it myself, and found he wanted his Supper, which he took at no particular Time, but just whenever he was inclined to lay aside his Reading or Writing. I might have spread the Table for him nineteen Times out of twenty, without his ever looking at me; however, on this Occasion he happened to have nothing better to do, and observed I was in trouble.

“Child,” said he, “is thy Mother worse?”

“No, Sir, I humbly thank you.”

“Then,” says he, “Something else has happened to grieve thee, for thine Eyes are red with weeping. What is it?”

But I could not tell him.

“Well,” said he, after a Pause, “young Girls may have their Griefs that they don’t care to tell about.—Man is born to Trouble, as the Sparks fly upward. And sometimes those Griefs we show least, we feel most. But remember, my good Girl, (for a good Girl, Cherry, thou art!) that there is One to whom we may always carry our Burthens; One who can ease them, too, either by giving us Strength to bear them, or by removing them altogether.—Go pray, my Child, go pray!”

And I did as he bade me, and found Balm for a bleeding Heart. He was a good and wise Man, was Master Blower.

When my Mother awoke, she said, “Cherry, I don’t know what has come over me, but I feel a Peace and a Quiet past expressing ... I should not wonder if you have been praying for me, my Child.”

I pressed her Hand and said, “Yes, Mother, I have ... and for myself too.”

“This Illness of mine may be a Blessing in Disguise to us both,” said she after a Pause—“it has taught me your Value, Cherry.”

“What a funny Story,” resumed she presently, quietly smiling, “might be written by a clever Hand about a Person who always fancied herself undervalued! ‘The Undervalued Woman!’—There are a good many such in the World, I fancy; poor Things, it seems no Joke to them. People who have that Impression of themselves generally take such silly Methods to prevent their being overlooked! They had better make themselves of real Importance, by being useful and thoughtful for others. They had better take Pattern by you, Cherry!”

How dear, a Mother’s Praise! Especially when so seldom bestowed!