The Heart's Highway: A Romance of Virginia in the Seventeenth CenturyFreeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
History
The Heart's Highway: A Romance of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century
Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
We went forth from Locust Creek, I having promised that I would do
all that I could to further his suit with Mary Cavendish, and when
we reached the bend of the road, he having walked beside me,
hitherto leading his horse, he was in his saddle and away, having
first acquainted me anxiously with the fact that he was to wear that
night to the governor's ball a suit of blue velvet with silver
buttons, and asking me if I considered that it would become him in
Mistress Mary's eyes. Then I went home to Drake Hill, passing along
such a wonderful aisle of bloom of locust and peach and mulberry and
honeysuckle and long trails of a purple vine of such a surprise of
beauty as to make one incredible that he saw aright--bushes
pluming white to the wind, and over all a medley of honey and almond
and spicy scents seeming to penetrate the very soul, that I was set
to reflecting in the midst of my sadness of renunciation of my love,
and my anxiety for her if, after all, such roads of blessing which
were set for our feet at every turn led not of a necessity to
blessed ends, and if our course tended not to happiness, whether we
knew it or not, and along whatever byways of sorrow.
XI
I have seen many beautiful things in my life, as happens to every
one living in a world which hath little fault as to its appearance,
if one can outlook the shadow which his own selfishness of sorrow
and disappointment may cast before him; but it seemed that evening,
when I saw Mary Cavendish dressed for the governor's ball, that she
was the crown of all. I verily believe that never since the world
was made, not even that beautiful first woman who comprehended in
herself all those witcheries of her sex which have been ever since
to our rapture and undoing, not even Eve when Adam first saw her in
Paradise, nor Helen, nor Cleopatra, nor any of those women whose
faces have made powers of them and given them niches in history,
were as beautiful as Mary Cavendish that night. And I doubt if it
were because she was beheld by the eyes of a lover. I verily believe
that I saw aright, and gave her beauty no glamour because of my
fondness for her, for not one whit more did I love her in that
splendour than in her plainest gown. But, oh, when she stood before
her grandmother and me and a concourse of slaves all in a ferment of
awe and admiration, with flashings of white teeth and upheavals of
eyes and flingings aloft of hands in half-savage gesticulation, and
courtesied and turned herself about in innocent delight at her own
loveliness, and yet with the sweetest modesty and apology that she
was knowing to it! That stuff which had been sent to my Lady
Culpeper and which had been intercepted ere it reached her was of a
most rich and wonderful kind. The blue of it was like the sky, and
through it ran the gleam of silver in a flower pattern, and a great
string of pearls gleamed on her bosom, and never was anything like
that mixture of triumph in, and abashedness before, her own
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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