Dariel: A Romance of SurreyBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Dariel: A Romance of Surrey
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Surrey (England) -- Fiction
His quiet eyes flashed as if his heart was roused by the words it had
given way to. And glad was I, not to be the man presented by it in the
portraiture of memory.
"Why do I admire the British race?" he continued, with his better tone
recovered; "not for their energy and manliness alone, not even for their
love of freedom, and great spirit of truth and justice, but most of all
because they alone of all the nations I have mingled with are born
without this cursed taint of savage and vile vindictiveness. If a man
wrongs you, you have it out with him. You thrash him, if nature has
enabled you. You vent your wrath upon him, and you go your way. The
world is large enough for both of you. If you hear of his misery, and
woe, and death, you only say, 'Poor fellow, there may have been more
good in him than I thought.' But with us of the Eastern and the Southern
blood, that blood is turned to poison by a deep and bitter wrong. By the
grace of God, and the grandeur of our Christ, I have struggled long
against this birth of Satan in me; but even now I have not overcome it,
utterly and for ever, as a larger mind would crush it. But what has this
to do with you? A great deal, if you have really set your heart upon my
daughter. Are you sure that you have done that with true English
strength and thoroughness? No passing whim, no delight of the eyes, as a
flower or a picture catches them; but a power that will last as long as
you do, and longer than the earthly part of you?"
No fellow likes to be cross-examined thus; and to tell the plain truth,
I had scarcely gone into myself in this awful manner. But I soon
perceived that he was speaking rather at the prompting of his own
remembrance, than of set form and purpose for probing me. So as the
picture arose before me of Dariel and her little bird, I spared no word
that I could think of; though none were half strong enough, none half
staunch enough; nothing that came to my lips had any right to go out as
if it spoke for me. Truly I had not been so touched by the piety,
mystery, exalted beauty, and lovely maidenhood of my love, as I was by
the sight of her tender self indulging her loving nature.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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