Arrah Neil; or, Times of OldJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Arrah Neil; or, Times of Old
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Never, never!" she cried. "Never, Francis! I have had no one to love.
Little as I have seen of the world, few as were those who have
frequented our house since I was a mere girl, it was not likely, that
I should meet with any who should either care to make themselves
agreeable to me or have the power of doing so. I can assure you that,
had it not been for my brother Charles, till I met with you I should
have thought men very dull things indeed. We had, it is true, more
than once, a crowd of roystering Cavaliers, and, more frequently
still, half-a-dozen prim Puritans, staying in the house or in the
neighbourhood; but the first were all too gay for me, the others all
too sad; the one set too fond of their fine clothes and their fine
horses, the others too fond of their own selves, for them to care for
me or I to care for them. One man, indeed, asked my father for my hand
when I was a girl of fifteen; but my father saved me the trouble of
saying no, by valuing me at too high a price to part with me. But with
you, Francis, it is very different: you have mingled with the bright
dames of France and the beautiful ones of Italy and Spain; and I
cannot even hope that you should have escaped heart-whole, to lay your
first affections at the feet of poor Annie Walton, a country girl,
well-nigh ignorant of courts, and of all the graces that you must have
seen elsewhere."
"I have seen none like her, Annie," said Lord Beverley, in a tone of
deep earnestness; "and I will tell you in truth and sincerity, I never
loved till I did see her. I may have admired; I may have been pleased;
but there have been things in my fate and history which came dimly
between me and all others, like those glasses which star-gazers use to
look upon the sun without having their eyes dazzled; and even, dearest
Annie, when that thick veil was over me the moat, I was still the
gayest, jesting with the light, laughing with the gay, and draining
the bowl of pleasure to the dregs, even when the draught was most
tasteless to my lips."
"Indeed!" said Annie Walton, gravely; "that seems strange to me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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