Great Britain -- History -- Charles I, 1625-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
“Madam,” he said with a courtly inclination of his head, which
obeisance, it flashed across the girl’s mind, had been purchased with
his fresh accoutering, a thought that almost brought a smile to her
lips, which she hoped to keep firm. “Madam, I crave your pardon for
my unseemliness of temper to-day. I am at best an uncouth person,
travelling at the head of my own men, who question neither words nor
acts of mine, and so have led me into the gruff habit of expecting
obedience and not censure. I am no squire of dames, as there is little
need to tell you, for already you know it from this day’s experience
of my ways; but I am deeply grieved that I fell so far short of the
courtesy which is your due, and I trust you will forgive my lapse of
manners.”
Here was an apology indeed, that might well have called forth a generous
response, and undoubtedly would have done so from a woman of the world;
but Frances had been too sorely hurt by his long incivility toward her.
Ladies in the romances she had read were always treated with the utmost
chivalry, and, if truth must be told, she was tired and cross, so she
hardened her heart, bent her proud eyes on the latticed window before
her, and made no reply.
There was a few moments’ silence in the room; then her punishment came
in his next words.
“I had hoped we might part good friends.”
“Part!” she cried in sharp terror, and those wide black eyes of hers
quickly deserted the blank panes to fall upon him. She had never
anticipated such an outcome of their quarrel as this, nor dreamed
that it was easily possible for him to circumvent all her plans by
withdrawing himself from her company. Instantly the dread consequences
of such a determination on his part--and she had had a glimpse of his
resoluteness--loomed up before her, every little disagreement between
them sinking into nothingness before this fearful alternative. She
dared not lose sight of him until her mission was accomplished, or
her brother’s life and her country’s ruin paid the penalty of her
foolishness. She must cast herself at his feet, if necessary, to retain
him, and here she had jeopardized everything in an outburst of temper.
A chilling fear crept into her heart that any complacency she might
show him would be too late. Secretly she had rather admired his sturdy
independence and pride of race, comparing it with her own vacillating
purpose, ready one moment to forgive and the next to ban; but now this
lofty self-respect might prove her undoing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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