United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- Social conditions -- Fiction
Standing upon his own hearth, a man of magnificent stature and almost
haughty bearing, Erle Palma looked quite forty, though in reality
younger; and the stern repression, the cautious reticence which had
long been habitual, seemed to have hardened his regular handsome
features. Weary with the business cares, the professional details of
a trip that had yielded him additional laurels and distinction, and
gratified his towering pride, he had come home to rest; and found it
singularly refreshing to study the exquisite picture of innocence
lying on his library rug.
He wondered how the parents of such a child could entrust her to the
guardianship of strangers; and whether it would be possible for her
to carry her peculiar look of holy purity safely into the cloudy
Beyond--of womanhood?
While he pondered the clock struck, and Regina awoke.
At sight of that tall stately figure, looming like a black statue
between her and the glow of the grate, she sprang first into a
sitting posture, then to her feet.
He made no effort to assist her, only watched every movement, and
when she stood beside him, he held out his hand.
"Regina, I am glad to see you in my house; and am sorry I could not
have been at home to receive you."
Painfully embarrassed by the thought of the position in which he had
found her, she covered her face with her hand; and at the sound of
his grave deep voice the blood swiftly mounted from her throat to the
tip of her small shell-shaped ears.
He waited for her to speak, but she could not sufficiently conquer
her agitation, and with a firm hand he drew down the shielding
fingers, holding, them in his.
"There is nothing very dreadful in your being caught fast asleep,
like a white kitten on a velvet rug. If you are never guilty of
anything worse, you and your guardian will not quarrel."
Her face had drooped beyond the range of his vision, and when he put
one hand under her chin and raised it, he saw that the missing light
in the alabaster vase had been supplied, and her smooth cheeks were
flushed to brilliant carmine.
How marvellously lovely she was in that rush of colour that dyed her
dainty lips, and made the large soft eyes seem radiant as stars, when
they bravely struggled up to meet his, so piercing, so coolly
critical.
"Will you answer me one question, if I ask it?"
"Certainly, Mr. Palma; at least I will try.
"Are you afraid of me?"
The sweet mouth quivered, but the clear lustrous eyes did not sink.
"Yes, sir; I have always been afraid of you."
"Do you regard me as a monster of cruelty?"
"No, sir."
"Will your conscience allow you to say, 'My guardian, I am glad to
see you'?"
She was silent.
"That is right, little girl. Be perfectly truthful, and some day we
may be friends. Sit down."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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