"But," said I, "I will kiss them;" and put them to my lips. "They have
told me the wishes of my girl. They have enabled me to gratify her
wishes. I have come to carry thee this very moment to town." "Lord bless me, Arthur," said she, lost in a sweet confusion, and her
cheeks, always glowing, glowing still more deeply, "indeed, I did not
mean----I meant only----I will stay here----I would rather stay----"

"It grieves me to hear that," said I, with earnestness; "I thought I was
studying our mutual happiness." "It grieves you? Don't say so. I would not grieve you for the world;
but, indeed, indeed, it is too soon. Such a girl as I am not yet fit
to--live in your city." Again she hid her glowing face in my bosom. "Sweet consciousness! Heavenly innocence!" thought I; "may Achsa's
conjectures prove false!--You have mistaken my design, for I do not
intend to carry you to town with such a view as you have hinted; but
merely to place you with a beloved friend, with Achsa Fielding, of whom
already you know so much, where we shall enjoy each other's company
without restraint or intermission." I then proceeded to disclose to her the plan suggested by my friend, and
to explain all the consequences that would flow from it. I need not say
that she assented to the scheme. She was all rapture and gratitude. Preparations for departure were easily and speedily made. I hired a
chaise of a neighbouring farmer, and, according to my promise, by noon
the same day, delivered the timid and bashful girl into the arms of her
new sister. She was received with the utmost tenderness, not only by Mrs. Fielding,
but by all my friends. Her affectionate heart was encouraged to pour
forth all its feeling as into the bosom of a mother. She was reinspired
with confidence. Her want of experience was supplied by the gentlest
admonitions and instructions. In every plan for her improvement
suggested by her new _mamma_, (for she never called her by any other
name,) she engaged with docility and eagerness; and her behaviour and
her progress exceeded the most sanguine hopes that I had formed as to
the softness of her temper and the acuteness of her genius. Those graces which a polished education, and intercourse with the better
classes of society, are adapted to give, my girl possessed, in some
degree, by a native and intuitive refinement and sagacity of mind. All
that was to be obtained from actual observation and instruction was
obtained without difficulty; and in a short time nothing but the
affectionate simplicity and unperverted feelings of the country-girl
bespoke the original condition. "What art so busy about, Arthur? Always at thy pen of late. Come, I must
know the fruit of all this toil and all this meditation. I am determined
to scrape acquaintance with Haller and Linnæus. I will begin this very
day. All one's friends, you know, should be ours. Love has made many a
patient, and let me see if it cannot, in my case, make a physician. But,
first, what is all this writing about?" "Mrs. Wentworth has put me upon a strange task,--not disagreeable,
however, but such as I should, perhaps, have declined, had not the
absence of my Bess, and her mamma, made the time hang somewhat heavy. I
have, oftener than once, and far more circumstantially than now, told
her my adventures, but she is not satisfied. She wants a written
narrative, for some purpose which she tells me she will disclose to me
hereafter. "Luckily, my friend Stevens has saved me more than half the trouble. He
has done me the favour to compile much of my history with his own hand. I cannot imagine what could prompt him to so wearisome an undertaking;
but he says that adventures and a destiny so singular as mine ought not
to be abandoned to forgetfulness like any vulgar and _every-day_
existence. Besides, when he wrote it, he suspected that it might be
necessary to the safety of my reputation and my life, from the
consequences of my connection with Welbeck. Time has annihilated that
danger. All enmities and all suspicions are buried with that ill-fated
wretch. Wortley has been won by my behaviour, and confides in my
integrity now as much as he formerly suspected it. I am glad, however,
that the task was performed. It has saved me a world of writing. I had
only to take up the broken thread, and bring it down to the period of my
present happiness; and this was done, just as you tripped along the
entry this morning. "To bed, my friend; it is late, and this delicate frame is not half so
able to encounter fatigue as a youth spent in the hay-field and the
dairy might have been expected to be." "I will, but let me take these sheets along with me. I will read them,
that I am determined, before I sleep, and watch if you have told the
whole truth." "Do so, if you please; but remember one thing. Mrs. Wentworth requested
me to write not as if it were designed for her perusal, but for those
who have no previous knowledge of her or of me. 'Twas an odd request. I
cannot imagine what she means by it; but she never acts without good
reason, and I have done so. And now, withdraw, my dear, and farewell." CHAPTER XLVI. Move on, my quill! wait not for my guidance. Reanimated with thy
master's spirit, all airy light! A heyday rapture! A mounting impulse
sways him: lifts him from the earth. I must, cost what it will, rein in this upward-pulling,
forward-going--what shall I call it? But there are times, and now is one
of them, when words are poor. It will not do--down this hill, up that steep; through this thicket,
over that hedge--I have _laboured_ to fatigue myself: to reconcile me to
repose; to lolling on a sofa; to poring over a book, to any thing that
might win for my heart a respite from these throbs; to deceive me into a
few _tolerable_ moments of forgetfulness. Let me see; they tell me this is Monday night. Only three days yet to
come! If thus restless to-day; if my heart thus bounds till its mansion
scarcely can hold it, what must be my state to-morrow! What next day! What as the hour hastens on; as the sun descends; as my hand touches
hers in sign of wedded unity, of love without interval; of concord
without end! I must quell these tumults. They will disable me else. They will wear
out all my strength. They will drain away life itself. But who could
have thought! So soon! Not three months since I first set eyes upon her. Not three weeks since our plighted love, and only three days to
terminate suspense and give me _all_. I must compel myself to quiet; to sleep. I must find some refuge from
anticipations so excruciating. All extremes are agonies. A joy like this
is too big for this narrow tenement. I must thrust it forth; I must bar
and bolt it out for a time, or these frail walls will burst asunder. The pen is a pacifier. It checks the mind's career; it circumscribes her
wanderings. It traces out and compels us to adhere to one path. It ever
was my friend.