Effie Ogilvie: the story of a young life; vol. 2Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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Effie Ogilvie: the story of a young life; vol. 2
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Scotland -- Fiction
Presently, however, there came a shock of awakening to this rapture,
when the young pair reached the little gate which admitted into the
garden of Gilston. Fred saw the house suddenly rising before him above
the shrubberies, gray and solid and real, and the sight of it brought
him back out of that magic circle. They both stopped short outside the
door with a consciousness of reality which silenced the one and roused
the other. In any other circumstances Effie would have asked him to come
in. She stopped now with her hand on the gate, with a sense of the
impossibility of inviting him now to cross that threshold. And Fred too
stopped short. To go farther would be to risk the entire fabric of this
sudden happiness.
He took her hand again, “Dear Effie, dearest Effie; good-night, darling,
good-night.”
“O Mr. Fred! but you must not call me these names, you must not
think---- It is all such a surprise, and I have let you say too much.
You must not think----”
“That I am to you what you are to me? Oh no, I do not think it; but you
will let me love you? that is all I ask: and you will try to think of me
a little. Effie, you will think of me--just a little--and of this sweet
moment, and of the flower you have given me.”
“Oh, I will not be able to help thinking,” cried Effie. “But, Mr. Fred,
I am just bewildered; I do not know what you have been saying. And I did
not give it you. Don’t suppose--oh don’t suppose---- You must not go
away thinking----”
“I think only that you will let me love you and try to please you.
Good-night, darling, good-night.”
Effie went through the garden falling back into her dream. She scarcely
knew what she was treading on, the garden paths all dim in the fading
light, or the flower-beds with their dahlias. She heard his footstep
hurrying along towards the road, and the sound of his voice seemed to
linger in the air--Darling! had any one ever called her by that name
before? There was nobody to call her so. She was Uncle John’s darling,
but he did not use such words: and there was no one else to do it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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