For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts
and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than
usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny
Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the
woods, with a basket on her arm. She did not observe him until she
had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to
his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and
alarmed.
"I am glad to meet you again, Jenny," said Mark, going quickly
toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without
resistance. "Don't be frightened. Mrs. Lee did me wrong. Heaven
knows I would not hurt a hair of your head! Come and sit down with
me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother. You say you
knew her and loved her. Let her memory make us friends."
Mark's voice trembled with feeling. There was something about the
girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer
thing. He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had
felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever
could, befall him.
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