"
"Oliver?" suggested the other, with a curious, wan little smile.
Deborah nodded.
"And what miracle--"
"Oh, I do not wonder you pause. This is not the day of miracles.
But if my belief in my husband could be shared; if by some
fortuitous chance I should be enabled to clear his name, might not
love and loyalty be left to do the rest? Wouldn't the judge's
objections, in that case, be removed? What do you think, Miss
Weeks?"
The warmth, the abandon, the confidence she expressed in this
final question were indescribable. Miss Weeks' conventional
mannerisms melted before it. She could no more withstand the
witchery of this woman's tone and manner than if she had been a
man subdued by the charm of sex. But nothing, not even her newly
awakened sympathy for this agreeable woman, could make her
untruthful. She might believe in the miracle of a reversal of
judgment in the case of a falsely condemned criminal, but not of
an Ostrander accepting humiliation, even at the hands of Love. She
felt that in justice to this new friendship she should say so.
"Do you ask me?" she began. "Then I feel that I must admit to you
that the Ostrander pride is proverbial. Oliver may think he would
be happy if he married your daughter under these changed
conditions; but I should be fearful of the reaction which would
certainly follow when he found that old shames are not so easily
outlived. There is temper in the family, though you would never
think it to hear the judge speak; and if your daughter is
delicate--"
"Is it of her you are thinking?" interrupted Deborah, with a new
tone in her voice.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158