I was
moved to take her hand a moment, gently detaining her. She looked
exceedingly bright and pretty. Her physical beauty was perfect, yet I
believed that the soul was only half awakened in the girl.
So as I held her hand a moment, with the others taking noisy leave about
us, I looked into her face with what she might have read as: "Weren't you
laughing rather loudly, my dear? I can see now that you are not so happy
as you would have people believe. Why not confide in me, and let me
straighten your difficulty out for you?"
But Rebecca's eyes were downcast, and her cheeks crimson. She let her
hand slip passively out of mine, and passed on, without a word.
CHAPTER IX.
LOVELL "POPS THE QUESTION."
One morning, ere we had breakfasted at the Ark, Lovell Barlow, like some
new-fangled orb of day, was seen to surmount the ruddy verge of the
horizon. He bore a gun upon his shoulders, and advanced with a singularly
martial and self-confident tread. As he entered the Ark, he placed the
gun against the wall, and sat down and folded his arms, and looked as
though he could be brave without it.
"Well, Madeline," said he, with a determined gaze fixed straight before
him on vacuity, and with a desperate affectation of spontaneity in his
tone--"Well, Madeline, mother and father have gone to Aunt Marcia's, _I_
suppose to spend a week, _I_ suppose--ahem!--ahem!--_I_ suppose so.
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