United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
She did not tell him so--far from it. The secret seemed so strange, so
wonderful, so exquisite in its blending of pain and pleasure, that she
did not tell any one. Hers was not the nature that could babble of the
heart's deepest mysteries to half a score of confidants. To him first
she would make the supreme avowal that she had become his by a sweet
compulsion that had at last proved irresistible, and even he must again
seek that acknowledgment directly, earnestly. He was left to gather
what hope he could from the fact that she did not resent his warmer
expressions, and this leniency from a girl like Grace St. John meant so
much to him that he did gather hope daily. Her letters were not nearly
so frequent as his, but when they did come he fairly gloated over them.
They were so fresh, crisp and inspiring that they reminded him of the
seaside breezes that had quickened his pulses with health and pleasure
during the past summer. She wrote in an easy, gossiping style of the
books she was reading; of the good things in the art and literary
journals, and of such questions of the day as would naturally interest
her, and he so gratefully assured her that by this course she kept him
within the pale of civilization, that she was induced to write oftener.
In her effort to gather material that would interest him, life gained a
new and richer zest, and she learned how the kindling flame within her
heart could illumine even common things. Each day brought such a wealth
of joy that it was like a new and glad surprise. The page she read had
not only the interest imparted to it by the author, but also the far
greater charm of suggesting thoughts of him or for him; and so began an
interchange of books and periodicals, with pencillings, queries, marks
of approval and disapproval. "I will show him," she had resolved, "that
I am not a doll to be petted, but a woman who can be his friend and
companion."
And she proved this quite as truly by her questions, her intelligent
interest in his mining pursuits and the wild region of his sojourn, as
by her words concerning that with which she was familiar.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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