“we live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; in feelings, not in figures on a dial.”
sang a poet, and so it was with anne. mortified pride and love of flattery were washed away in copious tears, and then the stings of remorseful conscience completed the good work. her vanity crumbled into ashes, leaving only scars upon her heart, which was really pure and good at bottom.
at the end of that long week—made up as it seemed to anne of hundreds of years—mrs. forrest came into the room, carefully shielding the lighted candle with her hand against the draft. placing the candle upon the chest of drawers, she sat down beside the girl, huddled up in a chair with her face bowed upon her knees.
“i brought you away from your mother, anne, and the responsibility of your welfare lies heavy upon my heart. your conduct since coming here has grieved me sorely, but i still believe you are a good girl, and i hope this affair will be a lesson to you. if you live long enough, my child, you will learn that the love of a good man, no matter how humble his station, is of128 priceless value. it is no more to be compared to the idle words of a brainless fop than a diamond is to a bit of glass,” she continued, waxing eloquent as her emotions arose. “come now, my child, is not your heart sore when you think of your mother?”
“oh, more than i can tell you,” cried anne, throwing herself on her knees and burying her face in her mistress’s lap. “indeed i did not mean to do wrong, i was only thoughtless.”
“i believe you, anne,” replied mrs. forrest, smoothing the girl’s disheveled curls, “and in the future i know you will be all that john laydon could desire.”
“he will never forgive me, he is so proud,” sobbed anne.
“compel his admiration by your conduct, and love will have its way again. true love, my child, forgives many a deep wound inflicted by the hand of those that are dearest. now you must go to bed, and let this coming sunday be the beginning of your new life.” and then the repentant maiden, soothed and comforted, was tucked into bed by the kindly ministrations of a heart that understood and pitied.
in the days that followed, a changed anne could be seen going about her household129 duties. her sad face and down-cast eyes tugged strongly at the heartstrings of the now recovered john as he sat among the men in church.
he tried to steel his heart against her. “no,” he said to himself, “i am not going to be fooled by her again. she can go her way, and i will go mine.”
nevertheless, his eyes constantly wandered over to where she sat with bent head over her prayer-book.
at the close of the morning prayer, good chaplain hunt stood forth, and in simple words told the touching story of the love and forgiveness of the incarnate god, and then went on to speak of charity, the love that covers all things.
two large tears rolled down anne’s cheeks as she listened. the shining drops caught the wandering eye of john, and for some reason he found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. “all sham, done for effect!” he angrily muttered.
coming out of church, he was joined by adam clotworthy. “look here, john, haven’t you punished that poor girl long enough? you haven’t spoken to her since august, and now ’tis the first of october. if you do not do something soon, i’ll marry her myself.”
“a pretty bridegroom you would make, with a body like a hogshead set on skewers!”
“that makes no difference when a girl comes to her senses as anne has. she knows now how to value an honest man’s affections. his looks play but a small part. i saw her looking at you when we were coming out, and if you could have seen that look you would go straight to her, unless you have a block of stone for a heart.”
john had seen the look, but he did not enlighten adam.
after the midday meal, john, too restless to stay indoors, strolled forth into the hazy sunshine, trying to still the hungry longing at his heart.
back of mrs. forrest’s cabin a drooping elm threw its shadow over the brown grass and plumy golden-rod beneath. on a little cushion of rootlets sat anne, resting her cheek on her hand and gazing away over the james. she was so deeply absorbed in thought, that the crackling of dried twigs under john’s feet did not disturb her.
“anne, are you sorry?”
with a start she looked up at him. no answer came from her lips. lower and lower bent her head over her hands as she twisted and untwisted her fingers in an131 effort at self-control. the sunshine, shimmering through the trees, sought out the gold in the chestnut curls escaping from beneath her cap.
“you have not answered me, anne.”
sob after sob shook her little body, but no words came. the sight was too much for john, who had all a man’s horror of tears. sitting down beside her, he took one of her little hands in his; it no longer resisted his pressure.
“will the words not come? then, little one, if you really care, put your head here on my heart.”
with an impulsive movement anne buried her head in his breast, and as she wept away the follies of childhood, her woman’s heart acknowledged its love.
“how long are you going to keep me waiting, anne?”
“whenever you want me, john, i will come.”
“i want you now, my little one. and, anne, i will try to give you all the pretty things i can get by honest toil.”
“don’t, john; don’t. i do not want them,” she cried, her heart stung by his loving words. “i only want you, john; i desire nothing else.”
“tom,” cried mrs. forrest to her husband,132 “come here quickly. look through the window. is it not a pretty sight? the lord has answered my prayer.”
looking out, he saw john laydon under the trees, holding anne in his arms.
“come away,” said his wife, taking him by the sleeve; “’tis too sacred a scene for us to look upon.”
it took but a few weeks for anne to be ready for john, for an elaborate trousseau was not necessary. mrs. forrest, true to her feminine instincts, delighted in sorting out linen from her store as a wedding present for the happy couple.
on a lovely autumn day, when the haze of the indian-summer cast its dreamy spell over the little church, john and anne took each other for better or worse, as long as life should last.
adam acted as master of ceremonies, marshaling in the indians invited to the first marriage in virginia. standing by captain smith, and as close to the bridal couple as possible, was pocahontas, her curious eyes watching every movement made by mr. hunt and the wedding party. when john placed the simple gold band upon the finger of anne, the indian maid held out her left hand to captain smith, and with a humoring smile he made an133 imaginary circlet around the marriage finger.
as soon as the ceremony was completed she stepped up to anne and held out a bundle of soft doeskins.
“pocahontas likes the white squaw now. white squaw has warrior of her own.”
