Archibald Hamn, who foresaw possibilities in the widow’s loneliness, and who judged men entirely by their manners, remained to assure Mistress Fawcett of the wisdom of her choice, and to offer his services as mediator.  Mary laughed and sent him home.  She wrote to Levine not to call until she bade him, and for several days pondered deeply upon her daughter’s opposition and Dr. Hamilton’s advice.  The first result of this perturbing distrust in her own wisdom was a violent attack of rheumatism in the region of her heart; and while she believed herself to be dying, she wrung from her distracted daughter a promise to marry Levine.  She recovered from the attack, but concluded that, the promise being won, it would be folly to give it back.  Moreover, the desire to see her daughter married had been aggravated by her brush with death, and after another interview with Levine, in which he promised all that the fondest mother could demand, she opened her chests of fine linen.

Rachael submitted.  She dared not excite her mother.  Her imagination, always vivid though it was, refused to picture the end she dreaded; and she never saw Levine alone.  His descriptions of life in Copenhagen interested her, and when her mother expatiated upon the glittering destiny which awaited her, ambition and pride responded, although precisely as they had done in her day dreams.  She found herself visioning Copenhagen, jewels, brocades, and courtiers; but she realized only when she withdrew to St. Kitts, that Levine had not entered the dream, even to pass and bend the knee.  Often she laughed aloud in merriment.  As the wedding-day approached, she lost her breath more than once, and her skin chilled.  During the last few days before the ceremony she understood for the first time that it was inevitable.  But time—­it was now three months since the needlewomen were set at the trousseau—­and her unconscious acceptance of the horrid fact had trimmed her spirit to philosophy, altered the habit of her mind.  She saw her mother radiant, received the personal congratulations of every family on the Island.  Her sisters came from St. Croix, and made much of the little girl who was beginning life so brilliantly; beautiful silks and laces had come from New York, and Levine had given her jewels, which she tried on her maid every day because she thought the mustee’s tawny skin enhanced their lustre.  She was but a child in spite of her intellect.  Her union with the Dane came to appear as one of the laws of life, and she finished by accepting it as one accepted an earthquake or a hurricane.  Moreover, she was profoundly innocent.

V