The wood-bordered road, leading from the village to the railroad ten
miles away, was now a favorite walk of hers. It was suited to her in
many ways, for it was seldom travelled; it followed the sunny side of
the low mountain range back of Christmas Cove, not a house stood along
its entire way, and to add charm, a brook kept it company, crossing
and recrossing it for two miles. That feature was the most especial
attraction, for beds of watercress waved beneath the limpid waters in
deep pools, bunches of flag grew along its banks, their blue flowers
bending to kiss the current; its ripples danced in the sunlight; its
music was a tinkling melody, and these simple attractions appealed to
Chip.
There was also another reason for now choosing this byway walk. She knew,
or felt sure, that Ray would visit Christmas Cove on his return from
the woods. He must come in the old carryall,--about the only vehicle
ever journeying along this road,--and now, like a brownie of the forest,
she watched until she spied it afar and then hid in the bushes and
peeped out until it passed each day.
A curious and somewhat complex feeling toward this young man had also
come to her. At first, like a child, she had loved him unasked. She had
known no different. He had seemed like a young god to her, and to
cling to him was supreme happiness. Then had come an awakening, a
consciousness that this freedom was not right and must be checked.
Following that also--a bitter lesson--it had come to her that she
was a kind of outcast, a child of shame, as it were, whose origin
was despicable, and who was dependent upon the charity of others.
This awakening, this new consciousness, was like a black chasm in
front of her, a horror and shame combined, and true to her nature, she
fled from it like one pursued.
But two years had changed her views of humanity. She had learned that
money and social position did not always win friends and respect. That
birth and ancestry were of less consideration than a pure mind and honest
intentions, and that fine raiment sometimes covered a base heart and vile
nature.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account