Hard-Pan: A Story of Bonanza FortunesBonner, Geraldine
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Hard-Pan: A Story of Bonanza Fortunes
Bonner, Geraldine
Gold miners -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
She was possessed by a wild desire to escape from the house and the
city. The scene of her humiliation had become intolerable to her, and
deep in her heart lay the terror that if she remained it would be the
scene of her downfall. The thought of Gault's reappearance filled her
with dread. She was confident of his return, and his return as the
conqueror who had gauged her weakness and his own power. All her trust
in him had been shattered at a blow. Suddenly he had appeared to her,
not as the lover whose highest wish was for her happiness, but as the
master, cruel and relentless, the owner who had bought and paid for
her. The shame of the thought that she still loved him caused her to
bow her face upon her breast, hiding it from the eyes of men and the
light of day. All she could whisper in her own justification was the
words, "But when I grew to love him I never knew--I never guessed for a
minute what he meant."
She wanted to begin all over again, to be another person in another
place. The charm of home had vanished from the little house. She longed
to put it behind her, to be a different woman from the Viola Reed who
once within its narrow walls had known the taste of happiness.
She was so engrossed in her own sorrows that she thought nothing of
her father, heretofore the first consideration of her life. She told
him what he should do, and he did it unquestioningly. Though no more
angry words had passed between them, it seemed to the frightened old
man as if every day she receded further from him. His only thought was
to repair the damage he had done, to climb back somehow into his old
position. He tried to anticipate her every wish, and followed her about
with humble offers of help. But when, during those days of work and
hurry, her eyes met his, they seemed to him to have a hard and alien
gleam. It struck upon his somewhat vague contrition like an icy wind.
If she had been gay and talkative he would have forgotten the wrong he
had done her in twenty-four hours, and been ready to laugh with her at
Gault. But she seemed now to have suddenly ranged herself against him
on Gault's side, and to have left him, chilled and solitary, out in the
cold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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