United States -- History -- Constitutional period, 1789-1809 -- Fiction
"Love me little, love me long.
"You want such violent things!"
"I want you. Is it, then, only a poor, pale friendship?"
"Why call it poor and pale? Friendship can be rosy-cheeked as well
as--as other things. Look how the grass is burned--and all the locusts
are singing of the heat!"
"It is beneath you to trifle so. If this is all, it is poor and pale,
and the sooner it dies, the better! Unity, I'm waiting for your _coup de
grâce_."
"I'm tired," said Unity. "You hurt me, and I'm tired."
"I never heard you say that before. Look at me! the tears are in your
eyes."
"Everybody cries over Eloïsa to Abelard.
"O death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when't is man we love!
"Where are you going?"
"Home first, then--I don't know where. Good-bye."
"Don't go."
"I'm afraid the book in the lilac bush is spoiled. If you'll allow me,
I'll send you another copy."
"Please don't go."
"The tears are on your cheeks. It is a moving poem.
"Oh, may we never love as those have loved!
"This is the third and last good-bye. Good-bye."
The younger Cary turned and resolutely walked away. Miss Dandridge rose
and followed him. He did not turn his head, and the thick turf could not
echo her light footfall. He walked firmly, with the port of a man who
hears a distant drum beat to action. Miss Dandridge admired the attitude
through her tears. He walked rapidly and the sweep of greensward between
them widened. It was no great distance to the driveway and the white
pillars of the house. Uncle Dick and Uncle Edward, Deb, the servants,
any one, might be looking out of the windows. For one moment Unity
stopped short as Atalanta when she saw the golden apple, then she began
to run. She touched her goal within ten feet of the house, and he stood
still and looked at the hand upon his arm. "Oh!" she panted. "Don't go!
I--I--I--"
"I--?"
"I love you. Oh!"
If any window saw, it was discreet and never told, remembering perhaps a
youth of its own. The embrace was not prolonged beyond a minute. Unity,
red and beautiful, released herself, looked about her like a startled
dryad, and made again for the catalpa. Fairfax Cary followed, and they
took that portion of the circular bench which had between it and the
house the giant bole of the tree. Before them dipped the shady hollow,
filled with the rustling of leaves, cool and retired as its parent
forest.
"Oh, yes, yes; it's true, gospel true!" cried Unity. "But I'll not be
married for a long, long year!"
"A year! You're going to be cruel again."
"No, no, I'm not cruel! I never was. 'Twas all your imagination. When I
marry, I'll be married hard and fast, hand and foot, wind and rain,
sleet and snow, June and December, forever and a day, world without end,
amen! holidays and all! I may live forever, and I'll be married all that
time. I want just one little year to say good-bye to Unity Dandridge
in."
"We'll take her to Greenwood with us."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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