Alabama -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; War stories
He spurned the crouching culprit, and as it slunk away in the direction
of the house, Edna found herself alone, face to face with the object of
her aversion, and she almost wished that the earth would open and
swallow her. Mr. Murray came close to her, held her hands down with one
of his, and placing the other under her chin, forced her to look at him.
"How dare you defy and disobey me?"
"I did not defy you, sir, but I could not help you to do what was wrong
and cruel."
"I am the judge of my actions, and neither ask your help nor intend to
permit your interference with what does not concern you."
"God is the judge of mine, sir, and if I had obeyed you, I should have
been guilty of all you wished to do with that stick. I don't want to
interfere, sir. I try to keep out of your way, and I am very sorry I
happened to come here this evening. I did not dream of meeting you; I
thought you had gone to town."
He read all her aversion in her eyes, which strove to avoid his, and
smiling gently, he continued: "You evidently think that I am the very
devil himself, walking the earth like a roaring lion. Mind your own
affairs hereafter, and when I give you a positive order, obey it, for I
am master here, and my word is law. Meddling or disobedience I neither
tolerate nor forgive. Do you understand me?"
"I shall not meddle, sir."
"That means that you will not obey me unless you think proper?"
She was silent, and her beautiful soft eyes filled with tears.
"Answer me!"
"I have nothing to say that you would like to hear."
"What? Out with it!"
"You would have a right to think me impertinent if I said any more."
"No, I swear I will not devour you, say what you may."
She shook her head, and the motion brought two tears down on her cheeks.
"Oh, you are one of the stubborn sweet saints, whose lips even
Torquemada's red-hot steel fingers could not open. Child, do you hate
or dread me most? Answer that question."
He took his own handkerchief and wiped away the tears.
"I am sorry for you, sir," she said in a low voice.
He threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"Sorry for me! For me! Me? The owner of as many thousands as there are
hairs on your head! Keep your pity for your poverty-stricken vagrant
self! Why the deuce are you sorry for me?"
She withdrew her hands, which he seemed to hold unconsciously, and
answered:
"Because, with all your money, you never will be happy."
"And what the d--l do I care for happiness? I am not such a fool as to
expect it; and yet after all, 'Out of the mouths of babes and
sucklings.' Pshaw! I am a fool nevertheless to waste words on you.
Stop! What do you think of my park, and the animals? I notice you often
come here."
"The first time I saw it I thought of Noah and the ark, with two of
every living thing; but an hour ago it seemed to me more like the
garden of Eden, where the animals all lay down together in peace,
before sin came into it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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