Her face wore a brooding,
puzzled look, 'Poor little soul, she is feeling her growing-pains!'
said Mistress Mary. It was a mind sitting in a dim twilight where
everything seems confused. The physical eye appears to see, but the
light never quite pierces the dimness nor reflects its beauty there.
If the ears hear the song of birds, the cooing of babes, the heart-
beat in the organ tone, then the swift little messengers that fly
hither and thither in my mind and yours, carrying echoes of sweetness
unspeakable, tread more slowly here, and never quite reach the spirit
in prison. A spirit in prison, indeed, but with one ray of sunlight
shining through the bars,--a vision of duty. Lisa's weak memory had
lost almost all trace of Mr. Grubb as a person but the old instinct
of fidelity was still there in solution, and unconsciously influenced
her actions. The devotion that first possessed her when she beheld
the twins as babies in the perambulator still held sway against all
their evil actions. If they plunged into danger she plunged after
them without a thought of consequences. There was, perhaps, no real
heroism in this, for she saw no risks and counted no cost: this is
what other people said, but Mistress Mary always thought Marm Lisa
had in her the stuff out of which heroes and martyrs are made.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55