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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 78, April, 1864
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2019
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"I know what Rachel Lowe is, Madam!" I cried, almost fiercely; "you don't,—you can't!"
Then, turning to the trembling girl, I said again,—
"Rachel, say, will you be my wife?"
At this moment Sam came forward. His face was pale, and he trembled.
"No, Rachel," said he, "don't be his wife! Be mine! I haven't treated you right, I know I haven't; but I love you, you don't know how much! The very way you have tried to keep me off has made me love you!"
"Sam! stop!" cried his mother, in a rage. "What do you mean? You know you won't marry that girl!"
"Mother," exclaimed Sam, "you don't know anything about her! She is worth every other girl in the place, and handsomer than all of them put together!"
"Sam!" began Miss Sarah.
"Now, Sarah, you stop!" cried he. "I've begun, and now I'll tell
Then, turning to the trembling girl, I said again,—
"Rachel, say, will you be my wife?"
At this moment Sam came forward. His face was pale, and he trembled.
"No, Rachel," said he, "don't be his wife! Be mine! I haven't treated you right, I know I haven't; but I love you, you don't know how much! The very way you have tried to keep me off has made me love you!"
"Sam! stop!" cried his mother, in a rage. "What do you mean? You know you won't marry that girl!"
"Mother," exclaimed Sam, "you don't know anything about her! She is worth every other girl in the place, and handsomer than all of them put together!"
"Sam!" began Miss Sarah.
"Now, Sarah, you stop!" cried he. "I've begun, and now I'll tell
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