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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
7
Mrs.
Todd
and
I
were
not
separated
or
estranged
by
the
change
in
our
business
relations;
on
the
contrary,
a
deeper
intimacy
seemed
to
begin.
I
do
not
know
what
herb
of
the
night
it
was
that
used
sometimes
to
send
out
a
penetrating
odor
late
in
the
evening,
after
the
dew
had
fallen,
and
the
moon
was
high,
and
the
cool
air
came
up
from
the
sea.
Then
Mrs.
Todd
would
feel
that
she
must
talk
to
somebody,
and
I
was
only
too
glad
to
listen.
We
both
fell
under
the
spell,
and
she
either
stood
outside
the
window,
or
made
an
errand
to
my
sitting-room,
and
told,
it
might
be
very
commonplace
news
of
the
day,
or,
as
happened
one
misty
summer
night,
all
that
lay
deepest
in
her
heart.
It
was
in
this
way
that
I
came
to
know
that
she
had
loved
one
who
was
far
above
her.
“No,
dear,
him
I
speak
of
could
never
think
of
me,”
she
said.
“When
we
was
young
together
his
mother
didn't
favor
the
match,
an'
done
everything
she
could
to
part
us;
and
folks
thought
we
both
married
well,
but't
wa'n't
what
either
one
of
us
wanted
most;
an'
now
we're
left
alone
again,
an'
might
have
had
each
other
all
the
time.
He
was
above
bein'
a
seafarin'
man,
an'
prospered
more
than
most;
he
come
of
a
high
family,
an'
my
lot
was
plain
an'
hard-workin'.
I
ain't
seen
him
for
some
years;
he's
forgot
our
youthful
feelin's,
I
expect,
but
a
woman's
heart
is
different;
them
feelin's
comes
back
when
you
think
you've
done
with
'em,
as
sure
as
spring
comes
with
the
year.
An'
I've
always
had
ways
of
hearin'
about
him.”
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