The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 100, February, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 100, February, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Did he love her beyond all others? Yesterday he could not have told;
to-day, under the fervor of his audacity and of his pride, his love
blazes in a fiery flame. It seethes around the memory of her lithe,
graceful figure in a whirl of passion. Those ripe red lips shall taste
the burning heat of his love and tenderness. He will guard, cherish,
protect, and the iron aunt may protest, or the world talk as it will.
"Adele!" "Adele!" His heart is full of the utterance, and his step wild
with tumultuous feeling, as he rushes away to find her,--to win her,--to
bind together their destinies forever!
XLVII.
It was a mellow evening of later October. Mists hung in all the hollows
of the hills. Within the orchard, where Adele was strolling, a few
golden apples still shone among the bronzed leaves. She saw Reuben
coming swiftly through the garden; but his eager step faltered as he
came near her. Even the serene look of girlhood has a power in it to
make impassioned confidence waver, and enthusiasms suffer recoil. He
meets her at last with an assumption of his every-day manner, which she
cannot but see presently is underlaid with a tempest of struggling
feeling to which he is a stranger. He has taken her hand and placed it
in his arm,--a little coquettish device to which he was wont; but he
keeps the little hand in his with a nervous clasp that is new, and that
makes her tremble all the more when his speech grows impassioned, and
the easy compliments of his past days of frolicsome humor take a depth
of tone which make her heart thrill strangely. Meantime, they had come
to the garden-end of the walk.
"It's late, Reuben, and I must go indoors," said she, with a quiet that
she did not feel.
"We'll take one more turn, Adele; you _must_." And her hand trembled in
the eager clasp he fastened upon it.
Not once did it come into her mind that Reuben was to make a declaration
of passion for her. She had feared only some burst of feeling in the
direction of the spinster, or of the Doctor, which should compromise him
even more seriously. When, therefore, he burst forth, as he did
presently, with a passionate avowal of his love, she was overwhelmed
with confusion.
"This is so sudden, so strange, Reuben! indeed it is!"
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