Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal Birthday — John Shaqi
Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal BirthdayMiller, Alex. McVeigh, Mrs.
Philosophy
Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal Birthday
Miller, Alex. McVeigh, Mrs.
Adventure stories; Aunts -- Fiction; Cousins -- Fiction; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction
"You mean Olive and Ela," she cried, quickly, the rose-bloom fading from
her dimpled cheeks and her sweet mouth trembling as she sighed: "Oh, I
knew that we were too happy for it to last and that something would
happen! There was a shadow on my heart. That was why I was singing, as
you came up:
"'All that's bright must fade,
The brightest, still the fleetest,
All that's sweet was made
To be lost when sweetest;
Flowers that bloom and fall,
Buds that blight in springing,
These, alas! are types of all
To which our hearts are clinging.'"
"What a little pessimist you are, Dainty! Always turning your face to
the darker side of life!" cried her lover, somewhat impatiently; adding:
"Nothing shall happen to part us, my own little love; though if your
aunt and cousins had their way, we would never see each other's face
again. Listen, Dainty. They have told me falsehoods about you--that you
had left a lover in Richmond; that he has followed you here, and has
been sending you notes to meet him in the grounds."
"Shameful!" she cried, indignantly. "How could they be so wicked!"
"And," continued her lover, crumpling the letters into a ball and
throwing them into her lap, "they gave me these notes to read, saying
you had dropped them, and a servant had brought them to your aunt."
Dainty smoothed out the sheets and glanced at them calmly.
"Oh!" she cried comprehensively. "And did you read them, dear?"
"Certainly not! I could not stoop so low. Besides, I had perfect
confidence in you, my dearest," he cried tenderly.
"Oh, Love, how noble you are to me! But your trust is not misplaced. I
can explain all about these notes; so please read them now," said the
young girl, earnestly, smoothing them out and holding them open before
his eyes.
He read, with much amazement, the following notes in a neat, masculine
chirography:
"DEAR LITTLE DAINTY,--Will you meet me down at the gate
about sunset? I have something very particular to say
to you. I know your good heart will make you grant me
this small favor. Do not fail me.
"Yours, wretchedly,
VERNON."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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