"Aunt Chloe don't b'lieve no such stuff," put in another voice;
"she says Marse Horace _couldn't_ put such trash in her sweet
young mistis's place."
"Aunt Chloe's a berry fine woman, no doubt," observed Pomp
disdainfully, "but I reckon Marse Horace ain't gwine to infide his
matermonical intentions to her; and I consider it quite
consequential on Marster's being young and handsome that he will
take another wife."
The next speaker said something about his having lived a good
while without, and though Miss Stevens _was_ setting her cap,
maybe he wouldn't be caught. But Elsie only gathered the sense of
it, hardly heard the words, and, bounding away like a frightened
deer to her own room, her little heart beating wildly with a
confused sense of suffering, she threw herself on the bed. She
shed no tears, but there was, oh! such a weight on her heart, such
a terrible though vague sense of the instability of all earthly
happiness.
There Chloe found her, and wondered much what ailed her darling,
what made her so silent, and yet so restless, and caused such a
deep flush on her cheek.
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