“He has escaped me,” he replied; “but a better time will come.”
There were tears in Emily’s eyes, but in the young man’s eyes shone
courage and confidence; and the sun shone through the window, and cast
his beams on the pair, and gave them his blessing.
The General sat in his room, bursting hot. Yes, he was still boiling, until
he boiled over in the exclamation, “Lunacy! porter! madness!”
Not an hour was over before the General’s lady knew it out of the
General’s own mouth. She called Emily, and remained alone with her.
“You poor child,” she said; “to insult you so! to insult us so! There are
tears in your eyes, too, but they become you well. You look beautiful in
tears. You look as I looked on my wedding-day. Weep on, my sweet Emily.”
“Yes, that I must,” said Emily, “if you and my father do not say ‘yes.’”
“Child!” screamed the General’s lady; “you are ill! You are talking
wildly, and I shall have a most terrible headache! Oh, what a misfortune is
coming upon our house! Don’t make your mother die, Emily, or you will
have no mother.”
And the eyes of the General’s lady were wet, for she could not bear to
think of her own death.
In the newspapers there was an announcement. “Mr. George has been
elected Professor of the Fifth Class, number Eight.”
“It’s a pity that his parents are dead and cannot read it,” said the new
porter people, who now lived in the cellar under the General’s apartments.
They knew that the Professor had been born and grown up within their four
walls.
“Now he’ll get a salary,” said the man.
“Yes, that’s not much for a poor child,” said the woman.
“Eighteen dollars a year,” said the man. “Why, it’s a good deal of
money.”
