United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
So saying he sauntered off to another part of the room, little thinking
that what he had spoken in jest would afterward prove true. At a late hour
the company began to disperse, Miss Warner keeping a watchful eye upon her
pupils, lest some lawless collegiate should relieve her from the trouble
of seeing them safely home. This perpendicular maiden had lived forty
years on this mundane sphere without ever having had an offer, and she had
come to think of gentlemen as a race of intruding bipeds which the world
would be much better without. However, if there were any of the species
which she could tolerate, it was Judge Fulton and Robert Stanton. The
former she liked, because everybody liked him, and said he was a "nice
man, and what everybody said must be true." Her partiality for the latter
arose from the fact that he had several times complimented her fine figure
and dignified manners; so when he that night asked the privilege of
walking home with Nellie, she raised no very strong opposition, but
yielded the point by merely saying something about "child’s play." She,
however, kept near enough to them to hear every word of their
conversation; but they consoled themselves by thinking that the wide-open
ears could not penetrate the recesses of their well-filled letters which
they saw in the future.
In a few days Stanton and Raymond started for Kentucky. The evening before
they left was spent by Stanton in Nellie’s company. Mrs. Fulton had
invited her to pass the night with her, as the Judge was absent from home.
About ten o’clock Mrs. Fulton very considerately grew sleepy, and retired
to her own room. But long after the town clock rang out the hour of
midnight, a light might have been seen gleaming from the windows of Judge
Fulton’s sitting room, in which sat Robert and Nellie, repeating for the
hundredth time vows of eternal constancy.
The next morning when the last rumbling sound of the eastern train died
away in the streets of Geneva, Nellie Ashton sat weeping in her little
room at the seminary. She felt that now she was again alone in the wide,
wide world. Eight years before she had in the short space of three weeks
followed both father and mother to their last resting place, and upon
their newly-made graves she had prayed the orphan’s prayer, that God would
protect one who was without father, mother, brother or sister in the
world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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