The young man seemed a little surprised at this communication, and Mary evinced a momentary confusion when it was made. He said, however, very promptly and pleasantly, turning to Mary--
"I suppose you have a good reason for it, Miss Mary."
"I think I have, Mr. Martin," she replied, smiling. "We cannot live, and educate James and William, unless we have a regular income; and I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that what we have cannot last long--nor to another, that I am the only one in the family from whom any regular income can be expected."
"And you are willing to devote yourself to incessant toil, night and day, for this purpose?"
"Certainly I am," Mary replied, with a quiet, cheerful smile.
"But it never will do, Mr. Martin, will it?" Mrs. Turner remarked.
"Why not, Mrs. Turner?"
"Because, it is not altogether respectable."
"I do not see any thing disrespectable in the business; but, with Mary"s motive for entering into it, something highly respectable and honorable," Mr. Martin replied, with unusual earnestness.
Mrs. Turner was silenced.
"And you really think of learning the business, and then setting it up?" said Mr. Martin, turning to Mary, with a manifest interest, which she felt, rather than perceived.
"Certainly I do, if mother does not positively object."
"Then I wish you all success in your praiseworthy undertaking. And may the end you have in view support you amid the wearisome toil."
There was a peculiar feeling in Mr. Martin"s tone that touched the heart of Mary, she knew not why. But certain it was, that she felt doubly nerved for the task she had proposed to herself.
As Mr. Martin wended his way homeward that evening, he thought of Mary Turner with an interest new to him. He had never been a great deal in her company while he boarded with her mother, because Mary was always too busy about household affairs, to be much in the parlor. But what little he had seen of her, made him like her as a friend. He also liked Mrs. Turner, and had from these reasons, frequently called in to see them since their removal. After going into his room, on his return home that evening, he sat down and remained for some time in a musing att.i.tude. At length he got up, and took a few turns across the floor, and again seated himself, saying as he did so--
"If that"s the stuff she"s made of, she"s worth looking after."
From this period, Mr. Martin called to see Mrs. Turner more frequently, and as Mary, who had promptly entered upon the duties of a dress-maker"s apprentice, came home every evening, he had as many opportunities of being with her and conversing with her as he desired. Amiable accomplished, and intelligent, she failed not to make, unconsciously to herself, a decided impression upon the young man"s heart. Nor could she conceal from herself that she was happier in his company than she was at any other time.
Week after week, and month after month, pa.s.sed quickly away, and Mary was rapidly acquiring a skill in the art she was learning, rarely obtained by any. After the end of four months, she could turn off a dress equal to any one in the work-room. But this constant application was making sad inroads upon her health. For two years she had been engaged in active and laborious duties, even beyond her strength. The change from this condition to the perfectly sedentary, was more than her const.i.tution could bear up under, especially as she was compelled to bend over her needle regularly, from ten to twelve hours each day. As the time for the expiration of her term of service approached, she felt her strength to be fast failing her.
Her cheek had become paler and thinner, her step more languid, and her appet.i.te was almost entirely gone.
These indications of failing health were not un.o.bserved by Mr.
Martin. But, not having made up his mind, definitely, that she was precisely the woman he wanted for a wife, he could not interfere to prevent her continuance at the business which was too evidently destroying her health. But every time he saw her his interest in her became tenderer. "If no one steps forward and saves her," he would sometimes say to himself, as he gazed with saddened feelings upon her colorless cheek, "she will fall a victim in the very bloom of womanhood."
And Mary herself saw the sad prospect before her. She told no one of the pain in her side, nor of the sickening sensation of weakness and weariness that daily oppressed her. But she toiled on and on, hoping to feel better soon. At last her probation ended. But the determined and ambitious spirit that had kept her up, now gave way.
Martin knew the day when her apprenticeship expired, and without asking why, followed the impulse that prompted him, and called upon her in the evening.
"Is any thing the matter, Mrs. Turner?" he asked, with a feeling of alarm, on entering the house and catching a glance at the expression of that lady"s countenance.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Martin, Mary is extremely ill," she replied, in evident painful anxiety.
"What ails her?" he asked, showing equal concern.
"I do not know, Mr. Martin. She came home this evening, and as soon as she reached her chamber fainted away. I sent for the doctor immediately, and he says that she must be kept very quiet, and that he will be here very early in the morning again. I am afraid she has overworked herself. Indeed, I am sure she has. For many weeks back, I have noticed her altered appearance and loss of appet.i.te. It was in vain that I urged her to spare herself for a few weeks and make up the time afterwards. She steadily urged the necessity of getting into business as soon as possible, and would not give up. She has sacrificed herself, Mr. Martin, I very much fear, to her devotion to the family." And Mrs. Turner burst into tears.
We need not say how sad and depressed Martin was, on turning away from the house, without the chance of seeing Mary, under the idea, too, of her dangerous illness. He called about ten o"clock the next morning, and learned that she was no better; that the doctor had been there, and p.r.o.nounced her in a low nervous fever. Strict injunctions had been left that no one should be admitted to her room but the necessary attendants.
Regularly every morning and evening Martin called to ask after Mary, for the s.p.a.ce of fifteen days, and always received the sad information that she was no better. His feelings had now become intensely excited. He blamed himself for having favored the idea of Mary"s going to learn a trade.
"How easily I might have prevented it!" he said to himself. "How blind I was to her true worth! How much suffering and toil I might have saved her!"
On the evening of the sixteenth day, he received the glad intelligence that Mary was better. That although greatly emaciated, and feeble as an infant, a decidedly healthy action had taken place, and the doctor expressed confident hopes of her recovery.
"May I not see her, Mrs. Turner?" he asked, earnestly.
"Not yet, Mr. Martin, The doctor is positive in his directions to have her kept perfectly quiet."
Martin had, of course, to acquiesce, but with great reluctance. For five days more he continued to call in twice every day, and each time found her slightly improved.
"May I not see her now?" he again asked, at the end of these additional days of anxious self-denial.
"If you will not talk to her," said Mrs. Turner.
Martin promised, and was shown up to her chamber. His heart sickened as he approached the bed-side, and looked upon the thin, white, almost expressionless face, and sunken eye, of her who was now the ruler of his affections. He took her hand, that returned a feeble, almost imperceptible pressure, but did not trust himself to utter her name. She hardly seemed conscious of his presence, and he soon turned away, sad, very sad, yet full of hope for her recovery.
The healthy action continued, and in a week Mary could bear conversation. As soon as she could begin to sit up, Martin pa.s.sed every evening with her, and seeing, as he now did, with different eyes, he perceived in her a hundred things to admire that had before escaped his notice. Recovering rapidly, in a month she was fully restored to health, and looked better than she had for years.
Just about this time, as Martin was making up his mind to declare himself her lover, he was surprised, on entering their parlor one evening, to find on the table a large bra.s.s door-plate, with the words, "MARY TURNER, FANCY DRESS MAKER," engraved upon it.
"Why, what are you going to do with this Mary?" he asked, forgetting that she did not know his peculiar thoughts about her.
"I am going to commence my business," she replied in a quiet tone.
"I have learned a trade, and now I must turn it, if possible, to some good account."
"But your health won"t bear it, Mary," he urged. "Don"t you know that you made yourself sick by your close application in learning your trade?"
"I do, Mr. Martin; but still, you know why I learned my trade."
Mr. Martin paused for a few moments, and then looking into her face, said--
"Yes, I know the reason, Mary, and I always admired your n.o.ble independence in acting as you did--nay," and he took her hand, "If you will permit me to say so, have loved you ever since I had a true appreciation of your character. May I hope for a return of kindred feelings?"
Mary Turner"s face became instantly crimsoned with burning blushes, but she did not withdraw her hand. A brief silence ensued, during which the only sounds audible to the ears of each, was the beating of their own hearts. Martin at length said--
"Have I aught to hope, Mary?"
"You know, Mr. Martin," she replied, in a voice that slightly trembled, "that I have duties to perform beyond myself. However much my feelings may be interested, these cannot be set aside. Under present circ.u.mstances, my hand is not my own to give."
"But, your duties will become mine, Mary; and most gladly will I a.s.sume them. Only give me your hand, and in return I will give you a home for all you love, and you can do for them just as your heart desires. Will you now be mine?"
"If my mother object not," she said, bursting into tears.