She herself had
not known, that, for the month past, since James came from sea, she had
been living in an enchanted land,--that Newport harbor, and every rock
and stone, and every mat of yellow seaweed on the shore, that the
two-mile road between the cottage and the white house of Zebedee Marvyn,
every mullein-stalk, every juniper-tree, had all had a light and a charm
which were suddenly gone. There had not been an hour in the day for the
last four weeks that had not had its unsuspected interest,--because he
was at the white house, because, possibly, he might be going by, or
coming in; nay, even in church, when she stood up to sing, and thought
she was thinking only of God, had she not been conscious of that tenor
voice that poured itself out by her side? and though afraid to turn her
head that way, had she not felt that he was there every moment,--heard
every word of the sermon and prayer for him? The very vigilant care
which her mother had taken to prevent private interviews had only served
to increase the interest by throwing over it the veil of constraint
and mystery.
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