Charleston Earthquake, S.C., 1886 -- Fiction; South Carolina -- History -- 1865- -- Fiction
When Ella's physician came the following day, he found his patient so much
better that he could not account for it until he had heard the glad news.
The healthful, elastic nature of the girl rallied swiftly. George's second
letter was handed her to read, and she kept it. Being clever with her
pencil, she made a ludicrous caricature of the colored boatman caught in a
gale with a wheelbarrow. Her smile was glad now, for hope grew stronger
every moment. Her right to love was now unquestioned, and even her proud
father and cousin had only words of respect and admiration for the lover
who, in a few brief moments, had vindicated the manhood which she had
recognized in the first moments of their chance encounter.
She could not believe that Mr. Houghton would remain obdurate when he
recovered sufficiently to think the matter over calmly. "Our papas," she
thought, with a little sigh and a smile, "have learned that burying their
children is a rather serious matter after all."
When two or three days passed, however, and no further communication had
been received from George, her father thought it wise to say a few words
of caution. "Ella," he began, "you are now strong enough to look at this
matter in all its bearings. Young Mr. Houghton probably finds that his
father is as adverse to his thoughts of you as ever. He has himself also
had time for many second thoughts, and--"
"Papa," said the girl, with a reproachful glance, "you have not yet
learned to do George Houghton justice. At the same time I wish neither you
nor any one else to give him the slightest hint of my feelings, nor to say
anything to him of my illness and what occurred in the boat. He asked
permission to pay his addresses, and he's got to pay them, principal and
interest, if I wait till I am as gray as you are. Dear papa, how you must
have suffered! To think that one's hair should turn white so soon! Haven't
I got a little gray, too?"
She looked at herself in the mirror, but the late afternoon sun turned her
light tresses, which she never could keep smooth, into an aureole of gold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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