Moreover, Miss Agatha was hedged about with a
dignity of grief, and the indistinct pity given her made her safe from
other intrusion; for Mas'r Andersen, in bringing home a Northern wife,
had brought home Northern principles, and, in his sudden escape forced
to leave her in the only home she had, was away fighting Northern
battles. This was a dreadful thing, and Mas'r Andersen was a traitor to
somebody,--so much Flor knew,--it might be the Government, it might be
the South, it might be Miss Agatha; her ideas were nebulous. Whatever it
was, Mas'r Rob and his gun were on the other side, and woe be to Mas'r
Andersen when they met! Mas'r Rob and his friends were beating back the
men that meant to take away Flor and all her kind to freeze and starve;
'twas very good of him, Flor thought, and there ceased consideration.
Meanwhile, wherever Mas'r Andersen might be, and whether he were so much
as alive or not, Miss Agatha was not the one that knew; and Flor adapted
many a rigadoon to her conjectured feelings, now swaying and bending
with sorrow and longing, head fallen, arms outstretched, now hands
clasped on bosom, exultant in welcome and possession.
Pages:
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287