The Cavaliers of Virginia, vol. 2 of 2: or, The Recluse of Jamestown; An historical romance of the Old DominionCaruthers, William Alexander
History
The Cavaliers of Virginia, vol. 2 of 2: or, The Recluse of Jamestown; An historical romance of the Old Dominion
Caruthers, William Alexander
Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
She examined him far more intently and with not less surprise, after the
subsidence of her first embarrassment. Her sparkling eyes ran over his
strange dress and condition, with the rapidity of thought, but evidently
with no satisfactory result. She was completely at a loss to understand
the cause of his visit, and the singular time and appearance in which he
had chosen to make it. It is not improbable that female vanity, or the
whisperings of a more tender passion, connected it in some way with her
own recent flight. These scarcely recognised impressions produced
however an evident embarrassment in her manner of proceeding. She longed
to ask if Virginia was his bride, yet dreaded to do so both on her own
account and his. She had lived long enough in civilized society to
understand the signification of his bridal dress, but she was utterly at
a loss to divine why he should appear in such a garb covered with mud,
as if he had ridden in haste, in the midst of a warlike nation, and on
the very night appointed for the celebration of his nuptials, unless
indeed she might solve the mystery in the agreeable way before
suggested. Catching one of the originally white bridal flowers of his
attire between her slender fingers, she said with a searching glance;
"Faded so soon?" He covered his face with his hands, and threw himself
prostrate upon the mat, writhing like one in the throes of expiring
agony.
His benevolent hostess immediately called a little Indian attendant, in
order to despatch him for the doctor; but her guest shook his head and
motioned with his uplifted hand for her to desist. She reseated herself,
more at a loss than ever to account for his present appearance and
conduct. She had supposed that he was suffering from the pain of his
wounds, but she now saw that of these he was entirely regardless. She
became aware that a more deeply seated pain afflicted him. Again he
turned his face toward the roof of the hut, his hands crossed upon his
breast, and his bosom racked with unutterable misery.
"Is the pretty Virginia dead?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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