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Chapter 37

           Ibeg—nayIcommandyoutoreadit!—Iwantyouropiniononit—youradvice;youmaypossiblysuggest,afterperusal,thepropersortofepitaphIoughttoinscribeonthemonumentIamgoingtobuildtohersacredanddearmemory!"

           IcoveredmyfacewithonehandtohidethebittersmilewhichIknewbetrayedmythoughts,andpushedthemanuscripttowardsher.Veryreluctantlyshetookit—andslowlyunrollingit,begantoread.Forseveralminutestherewasasilence,brokenonlybythecracklingofthelogsonthefire,andtheregularbreathingofthedogswhonowbothlaystretchedcomfortablyinfrontofthewoodblaze.IlookedcovertlyatthewomanwhosefameIhadenvied—attheslightfigure,thecoronalofsofthair—thedelicate,droopingsensitiveface—thesmallwhiteclassichandthatheldthewrittensheetsofpapersofirmly,yetsotenderly—theveryhandoftheGreekmarblePsyche;—andIthoughtwhatshort-sightedassessomeliterarymenarewhosupposetheycansucceedinshuttingoutwomenlikeMavisClarefromwinningeverythingthatfameorfortunecanoffer.Suchaheadashers,albeitcoveredwithlocksfairandcaressable,wasnotmeant,initsfineshapeandcompactness,forsubmissiontoinferiorintelligenceswhethermasculineorfeminine—thatdeterminedlittlechinwhichthefirelightdelicatelyoutlined,wasavisibledeclarationofthestrengthofwillandtheindomitablyhighambitionofitsowner—andyet,...

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