"I hate the woman like rank poison," she said while wading through the stubble behind uncle Nat's barn on her way home, "but her name is Farnham, and it'd be mean as a nigger and meaner too for me to say a word about that document; let Judge Sharp cipher out his own sums if he wants to, I ain't a-going to help him--there!" With this exclamation, the strong-minded woman returned home, perfectly satisfied with her mission and herself. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DOUBLE CONFESSION. Ask her not why her heart has lost its lightness, And hoards its dreamy thoughts, serenely still, Like some pure lotus flower, that folds its whiteness Upon the bosom of its native rill! "Mary Fuller, what ails you? All this time your eyes are heavy, and you look every other minute as if just going to cry. What is it all about?" This was a long speech for aunt Hannah, and it made Mary start and blush like a guilty thing, especially as it followed a protracted silence that had been disturbed only by the click of aunt Hannah's knitting-needles. "Matter with me, aunt? Nothing. What makes you think of me at all?" "Because it is my duty to think of you. Because there is need that some one should take care of you." "Of me?" said Mary, blushing to the temples, "what have I done, aunt?" "What everything of womankind must do, sooner or later, I suppose, my poor girl." "What is that, dear aunt?" faltered the girl. The old lady laid down her knitting, and leaned on the candle-stand with both her elbows; thus her aged face drew close to that of the young girl. "You have begun to love this artist youth, Mary Fuller!" she said, in a low whisper, for the very name of love pained her old heart as a sudden shock sends veins of silver along a sheet of ice. "Don't cry, Mary; don't cry; it is a great misfortune, but no fault. How could you help it, poor child!" "Oh! aunt Hannah, how did you find this out?" whispered the shame-stricken girl, "I thought"-- "That nobody knew it but yourself. Well, well, don't look so frightened; it's no reason that others know it because I do." "And Joseph, do you think? do you believe? I would not think it for a moment," she continued, with the most touching humility, "but he cannot fancy such a thing--and so I--I did not know but"-- "I think he loves you, Mary Fuller!" answered the old lady, breaking through her hesitating phrases, in womanly pity of her embarrassment. Mary started as if a blow had fallen upon her. "Oh! don't, don't, I dare not believe it. What? me?--me? Please don't say this, aunt Hannah, it makes the very heart quiver in my bosom." "I am sure he loves you, Mary, or I would not say it. Do I ever joke? Am I blind at heart?" Mary Fuller covered her face, while great sobs of joy broke in her bosom, and rushed in tears to her eyes. "Oh! I am faint--I shall die of this great joy--but oh! if you should be mistaken!"