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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"

Oh, what a nature was his! Then turning again to
me--"Will you wear this?" and a ring of turquoise and pearls was slipped
on my finger, while in his hand he held a richly-carved shell comb.
"This is for your midnight hair Emily, wear it always," and he placed it
among the coils of my hair.
Silence followed for a little time, and then Louis with his soulful eyes
fixed on something afar off, spoke with great fervor of the life he
longed for.
"Emily, you do not know me yet," he said.
"I know you better than you know yourself, but I am to you a puzzle, and
oh, if I could skip the years that lie between to-day and the day when
you and I shall really understand each other! Perfect in peace that day
I know will come, but there are clouds between. My father willed that I
should have this education I am getting. I need it, I suppose, but I
have greater needs, and cannot tell you about them till I am free."
"Two years--twenty-four months;" and his eyes fell, as he added
despairingly, "What a long time to wait." Then turning to me, "But you
will love me, you have said so?"
I looked my thoughts, and he answered them.
"Do not ever think so of me, I am only too sane, I have found my life
before the time."
"Oh! Louis," I cried, and then he answered with the words,
"My little mother knows it--she knows I love you. She knows my inmost
soul, and answers me with her pure eyes. But ah! her eyes have not the
light of yours; I want you to myself, to help me, and I will love you
all my life.


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