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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"

I hope I may never again have to say to myself, 'Emily did
it,' or its companion sentence, 'Poor Emily did not do it.' Let me
breathe a little first, for I shall be again wrought up."
"Perhaps not," said Louis.
"Oh! I must be, it cannot be avoided, there is a dark passage through
which we must pass, but if we go together it will not be so hard."
"As you say, my Emily," and at that moment Clara entered.
"Come in, little mother," said Louis, "come in and seal my title for
your royal cousin with a motherly kiss, for she has promised to be my
wife--my Emily through time."
And she glided toward us, kissed my forehead tenderly, and then taking a
hand of each in one of hers, she turned her eyes upward and said:
"Father, bless my children; they were made for each other. May their
lives and love continue, ever as thine, through endless time. Let our
hearts be united and thy will be ours," and she knelt on the floor at
our feet, her head resting in my lap, and her hand in Louis', whose
face was radiant with the thoughts which sought expression in his
features. I marvelled, as I looked on his beauty, that plain Emily Minot
could have become so dear to him.
The thought of father's fear, too, came over me, and while we were thus
in thoughtful silence, the old corner clock gave warning of the supper
hour being near, and I said:
"The supper I must see to, Louis."
He smiled and said:
"My Emily can get supper, I know, for she makes both bread and butter,
and is loyal to her calling ever, as to her lover.


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