often on the beach
of thought, with shipwrecked sentences that fell far short of my
thought, and expressed nothing of my real self. Why was it, as I grew
older, I came to realize, that if I had been born a little later, it
would have been easier? I was standing on tip-toe trying in vain to
touch that which lay beyond my reach; of course I must be constantly
falling, and the security of growth I could not then wait for. I must
keep reaching and falling, covering myself with disappointments, while
in the hearts if not on the lips of those about me must rest the same
old words, "Emily did it."

Clara says I can do something, and having grown to feel that her words
were almost prophecy, I felt sure there was something ahead, and
repeated again and again, "Emily will do it." Mr. Benton was looking
beyond his depth, and still did not hesitate to try and swim across the
difficult waters that lay between himself and Clara, and before Louis
left us, something occurred which I must tell about. I had been called
over the hill on an errand, was obliged to go alone, and was then
detained somewhat, and when I came back, Louis met me, and taking my
arm, said:

"Walk slowly, I have something I must say."

I thought of Clara at once, and it was a true impression, for he said:

"My little mother is in trouble; I have heard what I would never know if
I could avoid it--Professor Benton has been telling her that he loves
her. He has forced this upon her, I know, for these are his words to
which I unwillingly listened: 'Why, Mrs. Desmonde, do you shun me, why
turn you eyes whenever they meet my own, why call Miss Minot to your
side when an opportunity presents for us to be alone together? I cannot
be baffled in my love for you; no woman has ever before touched the
secret spring of my heart, no voice has ever reached my soul--yours is
music to me; and, Mrs. Desmonde, I need great love and sympathy; I am
not all I want to be; my lot in life has been in some respects very hard
to bear; I never knew my mother's love, and when old enough to desire
the companionship man needs, I had an experience which killed the flower
of my affection--I thought its roots were as dead as its leaves, until I
met you. Oh! Mrs. Desmonde, do you not, can you not return this feeling?
My life is in your hands.' It was hard for my little mother, and I stood
riveted to the spot, Emily, expecting to be obliged to enter and catch
her fainting form, for I knew in my hea