The discarded daughter; or, The children of the isleSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The discarded daughter; or, The children of the isle
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Chesapeake Bay Region (Md. and Va.) -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Maryland -- Fiction
“Yes, haughty girl, you speak truth; there is but one marriage—for you!
You are compelled to marry me! The world expects it of you. Is not the
will of your benefactor known? Are we not generally supposed to be
betrothed? Did we not make the tour of Europe alone together? The world
expects you to marry me. And you will forever lose the respect of the
world by failing to do so.”
Her brow crimsoned, her eyes blazed. She arose to her feet and answered
slowly:
“And I would rather lose the respect of the world by rejecting you than
deserve to lose it by accepting you.”
“Fool! Have you no regard for your reputation?”
“Yes; but think it wrong to secure good reputation at the expense of
good character.”
“What paradox, what nonsense is that?”
“Oh! they are not synonymous terms, character and reputation; on earth
they never have been, on earth they never will be. Often they are
antagonistic words. Many of the heroes and martyrs of history, the
demigods of our adoration, were men of the best characters, with—while
they lived—the worst reputations.”
“Then you have no respect for the good opinion of the world?”
“Yes! my aspiring heart! too much, I fear, for my soul’s good; and I
know, I know by all the glorious gifts of Heaven to me, I know by all my
mighty power for good or ill, by all my absolute unswerving will to
good, I know that I have a right and title, Heaven-patented, not to the
passive good opinion, but to the honor, the co-operation of the world.”
“And I tell you, haughty woman, as you stand here a very goddess of
pride, I tell you as you stand here beneath these halls, where you
should never have stood, invested with all this power, that you should
never have possessed, armed with the might of vast wealth and of high
talent, arrayed in the magic charms of young womanhood and perfect
beauty—I tell you, that you are now—naught that you will be, unless you
marry me—a suspected, proscribed, banned, outcast woman!” He expected
this to overwhelm her. But she turned her large, dark, solemn eyes,
solemn now with prophetic inspiration, upon him, and inquired calmly:
“Why?”
“Listen, girl. You are ambitious, arrogant, scornful. Yet a few words
from me will subdue all that, by showing you that you are obliged to
marry me. Attend! we made the tour of Europe alone together, putting up
at the same hotels, having a common parlor, a common table, a common
carriage——”
“Well, sir! That is easily understood in guardian and ward.”
“Not when the guardian is a man of thirty-seven and the ward a girl of
twenty; not when
“‘Both are young and one is beautiful,’”
he added sneeringly. “Often, you know it, we were mistaken for a married
pair——”
“And for brother and sister,” she added, the blood mounting to her brow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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