That brought matters to a head, and compelled me to take action.
It may have been weak of me, but not wanting a repetition of the scene
with Father Dan, (knowing well that Martin would not bear it with the
same patience) I sent the second letter to Alma, asking if the
arrangement would be agreeable. She returned it with the endorsement
(scribbled in pencil across the face), "Certainly; anything to please
_you_, dear."
I submitted even to that. Perhaps I was a poor-spirited thing, wanting
in proper pride, but I had a feeling that it was not worth while to
waste myself in little squibs of temper, because an eruption was coming
(I was sure of that) in which Martin would be concerned on my side, and
then everybody and everything would be swept out of the path of my life
for ever.
Martin came. In due course I read in the insular newspapers of his
arrival on the island--how the people had turned out in crowds to cheer
him at the pier, and how, on reaching our own village the neighbours (I
knew the names of all of them) had met him at the railway station and
taken him to his mother's house, and then lighted fires on the mountains
for his welcome home.
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