"What will the world say to your marriage after a single day's
acquaintance with me?"
"Nothing," Vesta answered, "except that I am your wife. That will, at
least, silence advice and prevent intrusion. If I delay, these
forebodings may prevail, if not with me, with my family, some of whom
are to be feared."
He seemed to have no curiosity on that subject, only saying:
"It is you, dear child, I am thinking of--whether this haste will not be
repented, or become a subject of reproach to yourself. To me it cannot
be, having no world, no tribe--only myself and you!"
Vesta came forward and lifted his hand, which was cold.
"I believe that you love me," she said. "I believe this hand has the
lines of a gentleman. Now, I will trust to you a family confidence. The
troubles of this house are like a fire which there is no other way of
treating than to put it out at once. My father will not be disturbed,
beyond his secret pain, at the step I am to take, for he appreciates
your talents and success. It is for him I shall take this step, if I
take it at all, and I have yet an hour to reflect. But my mother will be
resentful, and her brothers and kindred in Baltimore will express a
savage rage, in the first place, at my father's losing her portion; next
to that, and I hope less bitterly, they will resent my marriage to you.
Exposed to their interference, I might be restrained from going to my
father's assistance; they might even force me away, and break our family
up, leaving father alone to encounter his miseries.
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