United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
“Jed--really? Why, do you know, Maria has got it into her head that he
had run away from her. I should so love to witness their meeting; it
would be most interesting. But you must come into the house, Captain
Wayne; Edith will be overjoyed to see you again, although you know she
is never demonstrative, as I am. It must be awfully nice to be always
cool and calm, don't you think?”
Determined that I would not be tempted, I yet hesitated, and my
vivacious companion took everything for granted at once.
“Oh, before we go in, won't you do me a favor?” she asked. “But of
course you will. I was trying to tie this grapevine into place when you
surprised me, but I could not hold on with one hand and tie with the
other. See what I mean?” And placing one slender foot upon a slat of
the trellis she lifted herself up until she could barely reach the
refractory branch. “Now,” she said, smiling down upon me, “please just
hold me here for a moment until I secure this end.”
My hand was scarcely upon her in support when the slender slat snapped
beneath her weight. As she fell I caught her with both arms. For a
moment she lay, panting and startled, on my breast; then, as with a
little laugh she disengaged herself from my embrace, we stood there hand
in hand and face to face with Edith Brennan.
Shall I ever forget the look within her eyes? How plainly I saw
it, although she stood half hidden beneath the shadow of the vines.
Amazement, incredulity, scorn were expressed there, yet even as I marked
them all became merged into proud unconsciousness. She would have turned
away without a word, but my companion stopped her.
“Edith,” she cried eagerly, “do you not see? This is Captain Wayne.”
She turned toward me and slightly inclined her head.
“I recognized Captain Wayne,” was her calm answer, “and regret greatly
having intruded upon him. It was entirely unintentional, and I have no
desire to remain.”
I could not have spoken at that moment to save my life. It fairly
stunned me to realize the construction she so plainly placed upon the
scene just enacted. Not so the girl at my side. Her cheeks flushed with
indignation, and her audacity gave her speech which made matters even
worse than before.
“You are exceedingly free with your criticisms, Edith,” she exclaimed
sharply, as the latter turned her back upon us. “Perhaps it would be as
well for you first to ascertain the truth.”
“You wholly mistake,” was the calm reply. “I have not presumed to
criticise. Why should I? It is not a matter which interests me in the
least. I presume you have no further objection to my returning to the
house?”
She did not so much as deign to look again at either of us, but as she
moved slowly out of sight Miss Minor turned and looked into my face with
questioning eyes. What she may have read there I know not, but she sank
back upon a bench and burst into a merry peal of laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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