The Master of Appleby: A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same LadyLynde, Francis
History
The Master of Appleby: A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same Lady
Lynde, Francis
Historical fiction; Love stories; North Carolina -- Fiction; South Carolina -- Fiction; Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction
In some of these, her soberer times, I felt her lean upon me as my
sister might, had I had one; at others she would frankly set me in her
father's place, declaring I must tell her what to say or do in this or
that entanglement. Again, and this came oftener as our friendship grew,
she would talk to me as surely woman never talked to any but a kinsman,
telling me naively of her conquests, and sparing no gallant of them all
save only Richard Jennifer.
And of Dick and his devotion she spoke now and then, as well, though
never mockingly, as of the others. Nay, once when I pressed her on this
point, asking her plainly if my dear lad had not good cause to hope, she
would only smile and turn her face away, and say that of all the men she
knew the hopeful ones pleased her best. So I was thus assured that if it
were a scale for love to tip, my lady's heart would fall to Richard.
Now I took this to be a hopeful sign, that she would tell me freely of
these her little heart affairs; and seeing her so safe upon the side of
friendship, held the looser rein upon my own unchartered passion. So
long as I could keep my love well masked and hidden what harm could come
to her or any if I should give it leave to live in prison? None, I
thought; and yet at times was made a very coward by the thought. For
love, like other living things, will grow by what it feeds upon, and
once full-grown, may haply come to laugh at bonds, however strong or
cunningly devised.
With such a fever in my veins it was little wonder that my wound healed
slowly. As time passed by, with never a word of news from the world
without--if Margery knew aught of the fighting she would never lisp a
syllable to me--and with Gilbert Stair still keeping churlishly beyond
the sight or sound of me, I fretted sorely and would be gone.
Yet this was but a passing mood. When Margery was with me I was not
ill-content to eat the bread of sufferance in her father's house, and
angry pride had scanty footing. But when she was away this same pride
took sharp revenges, getting me out of bed to bully Darius into dressing
me that I might foot it up and down the room while I was still unfit for
any useful thing.
One morning in the summer third of June my lady came early and surprised
me at this business of pacing back and forth. Whereat she scolded me as
was her wont when I grew restive.
"What weighty thing have you to do that you should be so fierce to be
about it, Monsieur Impetuous?" she cried. "_Fi donc!_ you'd try the
patience of a saint!"
"Which you are not," I ventured. "But truly, Margery, I am growing
stronger now, and the bed does irk me desperately, if you must know.
Besides--"
"Well, what is there else besides? Do I not pamper you enough?"
I laughed. "I'll say whatever you would have me say--so it be not the
truth."
"I'll have you say nothing until you sit down."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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