"Jessie," said I, "will you imitate it?"
I stopt to gaze on her for a moment--she stood in the doorway--a
perfect model for a sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice to
that face--it was a study for a painter. Her whole soul was filled
with those clear beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame, and
attuned every nerve, till it was in harmony with it. She was so wrapt
in admiration, she didn't notice what I observed, for I try in a
general way that nothing shall escape me; but as they were behind us
all, I just caught a glimpse of the doctor (as I turned my head
suddenly) withdrawing his arm from her waist. She didn't know it, of
course, she was so absorbed in the music. It ain't likely she felt
him, and if she had, it ain't probable she would have objected to it.
It was natural he should like to press the heart she had given him;
wasn't it now his? and wasn't it reasonable he should like to know how
it beat? He was a doctor, and doctors like to feel pulses, it comes
sorter habitual to them, they can't help it. They touch your wrist
without knowing it, and if it is a woman's, why their hand, like
brother Josiah's cases that went on all fours, crawls up on its
fingers, till it gets to where the best pulse of all is. Ah, Doctor,
there is Highland blood in that heart, and it will beat warmly towards
you, I know. I wonder what Peter would have said, if he had seen what
I did.
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