Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 15, No. 88, April, 1875Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 15, No. 88, April, 1875
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
But Mabyn had by this time perceived that her sister held in her hand,
crumpled up, the letter which was the cause of this wild outburst of
grief. She went forward and firmly took it out of the yielding fingers:
then she turned to the light and read it. "Oh, if I were a man!" she
said; and then the very passion of her indignation, finding no other
vent, filled her eyes with proud and angry tears. She forgot to rejoice
that her sister was now free. She only saw the cruel insult of those
lines, and the fashion in which it had struck down its victim. "Wenna,"
she said hotly, "you ought to have more spirit. You don't mean to say
you care for the opinion of a man who would write to any girl like that?
You ought to be precious glad that he has shown himself in his true
colors. Why, he never cared a bit for you--never!--or he would never
turn at a moment's notice and insult you."
"I have deserved it all; it is every word of it true; he could not have
written otherwise." That was all that Wenna would say between her sobs.
"Well," retorted Mabyn, "after all, I am glad he was angry. I did not
think he had so much spirit. And if this is his opinion of you, I don't
think it is worth heeding, only I hope he'll keep to it. Yes, I do. I
hope he'll continue to think you everything that is wicked, and remain
out in Jamaica. Wenna, you must not lie and cry like that. Come, get up,
and look at the strawberries that Mr. Trewhella has sent you."
"Please, Mabyn, leave me alone, there's a good girl."
"I shall be up again in a few minutes, then: I want you to drive me over
to St. Gwennis. Wenna, I _must_ go over to St. Gwennis before lunch; and
father won't let me have anybody to drive. Do you hear, Wenna?"
Then she went out and down into the kitchen, where she bothered Jennifer
for a few minutes until she had got an iron heated at the fire. With
this implement she carefully smoothed out the crumpled letter, and then
she as carefully folded it, took it up stairs, and put it safely away in
her own desk. She had just time to write a few lines:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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