From time to time Maverick had written in reply to the periodical
reports of the Doctor, and always with unabating confidence in his
discretion and kindness.
"I have remarked what you say" (he had written thus in a letter which
had elicited the close attention of Miss Eliza) "in regard to the rosary
found among the girlish treasures of Adele. I am not aware how she can
have come by such a trinket from the source named; but I must beg you to
take as little notice as possible of the matter, and please allow her
possession of it to remain entirely unremarked. I am specially anxious
that no factitious importance be given to the relic by opposition to her
wishes."
Heavy losses incident to the political changes of the year 1831 in
France had kept him fastened at his post; and with the reviving trade
under the peaceful _regime_ of Louis Philippe, he had been more actively
engaged even than before. Yet there was no interruption to his
correspondence with Adele, and no falling off in its expressions of
earnest affection and devotion.
"I fancy you almost a woman grown now, dear Adele. Those cheeks of yours
have, I hope, not lost their roundness or their rosiness. But, however
much you may have grown, I am sure that my heart would guide me so truly
that I could single you out from a great crowd of the little Puritan
people about you. I can fancy you in some simple New England dress,--in
which I would rather see you, my child, than in the richest silks of
those about me here,----gliding up the pathway that leads to the door
of the old parsonage; I can fancy you dropping a word of greeting to the
good Doctor within his study (he must be wearing spectacles now); and at
evening I seem to see you kneeling in the long back dining-room, as the
parson leads in family prayer. Well, well, don't forget to pray for your
old father, my child. I shall be all the safer for it, in what the
Doctor calls 'this wicked land.' And what of Reuben, whose mischief, you
told me, threatened such fearful results? Sobered down, I suppose, long
before this, wearing a stout jacket of homespun, driving home the 'keow'
at night, and singing in the choir of a Sunday. Don't lose your heart,
Adele, with any of the youngsters about you. I claim the whole of it;
and every day and every night mine beats for you, my child."