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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
53
I
had
never
heard
her
speak
of
her
husband
before,
but
I
felt
that
we
were
friends
now
since
she
had
brought
me
to
this
place.
“'Twas
but
a
dream
with
us,”
Mrs.
Todd
said.
“I
knew
it
when
he
was
gone.
I
knew
it”--and
she
whispered
as
if
she
were
at
confession--“I
knew
it
afore
he
started
to
go
to
sea.
My
heart
was
gone
out
o'
my
keepin'
before
I
ever
saw
Nathan;
but
he
loved
me
well,
and
he
made
me
real
happy,
and
he
died
before
he
ever
knew
what
he'd
had
to
know
if
we'd
lived
long
together.
'Tis
very
strange
about
love.
No,
Nathan
never
found
out,
but
my
heart
was
troubled
when
I
knew
him
first.
There's
more
women
likes
to
be
loved
than
there
is
of
those
that
loves.
I
spent
some
happy
hours
right
here.
I
always
liked
Nathan,
and
he
never
knew.
But
this
pennyr'yal
always
reminded
me,
as
I'd
sit
and
gather
it
and
hear
him
talkin'--it
always
would
remind
me
of--the
other
one.”
She
looked
away
from
me,
and
presently
rose
and
went
on
by
herself.
There
was
something
lonely
and
solitary
about
her
great
determined
shape.
She
might
have
been
Antigone
alone
on
the
Theban
plain.
It
is
not
often
given
in
a
noisy
world
to
come
to
the
places
of
great
grief
and
silence.
An
absolute,
archaic
grief
possessed
this
countrywoman;
she
seemed
like
a
renewal
of
some
historic
soul,
with
her
sorrows
and
the
remoteness
of
a
daily
life
busied
with
rustic
simplicities
and
the
scents
of
primeval
herbs.
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