Erema; Or, My Father's SinBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
California -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“It was a wild and windy night, but with a bright moon rising, and going
across this park--or whatever it is called--I met my brother. At a crest
of the road we met face to face, with the moon across our foreheads. We
had never met till now, nor even heard of one another; at least he had
never heard of me. He started back as if at his own ghost; but I had
nothing to be startled at, in this world or the other.
“I made his acquaintance, with deference, of course, and we got on
very well together. At one time it seemed good luck for him to have
illegitimate kindred; for I saved his life when he was tangled in the
weeds of this river while bathing. You owe me no thanks. I thought twice
about it, and if the name would have ended with him, I would never have
used my basket-knife. By trade I am a basket-maker, like many another
'love-child.'
“However, he was grateful, if ever any body was, for I ran some risk in
doing it; and he always did his very best for me, and encouraged me to
visit him. Not at his home--of course that would never do--but when
he was with his regiment. Short of money as he always was, through
his father's nature and his own, which in some points were the very
opposite, he was even desirous to give me some of that; but I never took
a farthing from him. If I had it at all, I would have it from the proper
one. And from him I resolved to have it.
“How terrified you look! I am coming to it now. Are you sure that you
can bear it? It is nothing very harrowing; but still, young ladies--”
“I feel a little faint,” I could not help saying; “but that is nothing.
I must hear the whole of it. Please to go on without minding me.”
“For my own sake I will not, as well as for yours. I can not have you
fainting, and bringing people here. Go to the house and take food, and
recover your strength, and then come here again. I promise to be here,
and your father's daughter will not take advantage of my kindness.”
Though his eyes were fierce (instead of being sad) and full of strange
tempestuous light, they bore some likeness to my father's, and asserted
power over me. Reluctant as I was, I obeyed this man, and left him
there, and went slowly to the house, walking as if in a troubled dream.
CHAPTER LII
FOR LIFE, DEATH
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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