American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Western stories
All that was wise and gentle that she had intended to say, all that her
clear intellect and experience had taught her, died upon her lips with
that kiss. And all that she could do of womanly dignity and high-bred
decorum was to tuck her small feet under her chair, in the desperate
attempt to lengthen her short skirt, and beg him not to look at her.
"I have had to change dresses with Faquita, because we were watched,"
she said, leaning forward in her chair and drawing the striped shawl
around her shoulders. "I have had to steal out of my mother's house
and through the fields, as if I was a gypsy. If I only were a gypsy,
Harry, and not--"
"And not the proudest heiress in the land," he interrupted, with
something of his old bitterness. "True, I had forgot."
"But I never reminded you of it," she said, lifting her eyes to his.
"I did not remind you of it on that day--in--in--in the conservatory,
nor at the time you first spoke of--of--love to me--nor from the time I
first consented to meet you here. It is YOU, Harry, who have spoken of
the difference of our condition, YOU who have talked of my wealth, my
family, my position--until I would gladly have changed places with
Faquita as I have garments, if I had thought it would make you happier."
"Forgive me, darling!" he said, dropping on one knee before her and
bending over the cold little hand he had taken, until his dark head
almost rested in her lap. "Forgive me! You are too proud, Maruja, to
admit, even to yourself, that you have given your heart where your hand
and fortune could not follow. But others may not think so. I am
proud, too, and will not have it said that I have won you before I was
worthy of you."
"You have no right to be more proud than I, sir," she said, rising to
her feet, with a touch of her old supreme assertion. "No--don't,
Harry--please, Harry--there!" Nevertheless, she succumbed; and, when
she went on, it was with her head resting on his shoulder. "It's this
deceit and secrecy that is so shameful, Harry. I think I could bear
everything with you, if it were all known--if you came to woo me
like--like--the others. Even if they abused you--if they spoke of your
doubtful origin--of your poverty--of your hardships! When they
aspersed you, I could fight them; when they spoke of your having no
father that you could claim, I could even lie for you, I think, Harry,
and say that you had; if they spoke of your poverty, I would speak of
my wealth; if they talked of your hardships, I should only be proud of
your endurance--if I could only keep the tears from my eyes!" They
were there now. He kissed them away.
"But if they threatened you? If they drove me from the house?"
"I should fly with you," she said, hiding her head in his breast.
"What if I were to ask you to fly with me now?" he said, gloomily.
"Now!" she repeated, lifting her frightened eyes to his.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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