Good hath been born of Evil, many times,
As pearls and precious ambergris are grown,
Fruits of disease in pain and sickness sown,
So think not to unravel, in thy thought,
This mingled tissue, this mysterious plan,
The Alchemy of Good through Evil wrought.
--Tupper.
"But one more day, Hannah! but one more day!" gayly exclaimed Nora
Worth, as she busied herself in setting the room in order on Friday
morning.
"Yes, but one more day in any event! For even if the weather should
change in this uncertain season of the year, and a heavy fall of snow
should stop Mrs. Brudenell's journey, that shall not prevent Mr.
Brudenell from acknowledging you as his wife on Sunday! for it is quite
time this were done, in order to save your good name, which I will not
have longer endangered!" said the elder sister, with grim determination.
And she spoke with good reason; it was time the secret marriage was made
public, for the young wife was destined soon to become a mother.
"Now, do not use any of these threats to Herman, when he comes this
morning, Hannah! Leave him alone; it will all be right," said Nora, as
she seated herself at her spinning-wheel.
Hannah was already seated at her loom; and there was but little more
conversation between the sisters, for the whir of the wheel and the
clatter of the loom would have drowned their voices, so that to begin
talking, they must have stopped working.
Nora's caution to Hannah was needless; for the hours of the forenoon
passed away, and Herman did not appear.
"I wonder why he does not come?" inquired Nora, straining her eyes down
the path for the thousandth time that day.
"Perhaps, Nora, the old lady has been blowing him up, also," suggested
the elder sister.
"No, no, no--that is not it! Because if she said a word to him about his
acquaintance with me, and particularly if she were to speak to him of me
as she spoke to me of myself, he would acknowledge me that moment, and
come and fetch me home, sooner than have me wrongly accused for an
instant. No, Hannah, I will tell you what it is: it is his mother's last
day at home, and he is assisting her with her last preparations," said
Nora.
"It may be so," replied her sister; and once more whir and clatter put a
stop to conversation.
The afternoon drew on.
"It is strange he does not come!" sighed Nora, as she put aside her
wheel, and went to mend the fire and hang on the kettle for their
evening meal.