I must have lifted my head at this, for she paused and gave me a
curious look.
"You don't love him?" she cried.
"I shall not let him wreck my life," I responded.
Her lip curled and her two hands closed violently at her sides.
"You have not known him long," she declared. "You have not seen him at
your feet, or heard his voice, as day by day he pleaded more and more
passionately for a word or smile? You have not known his touch!"
"No," I impetuously cried, fascinated by her glance and tone.
I thought she looked relieved, and realized that her words might have
been as much an inquiry as an assertion.
"Then do not boast," she said.
The blood that was in my cheeks went out of them. I felt my eyes close
spasmodically, and hurriedly turned away my head. She watched me
curiously.
"Do you think I succumbed without a struggle?" she vehemently asked,
after a moment or two of this silent torture "Look at me. Am I a woman
to listen to the passionate avowals of the first man that happens to
glance my way and imagine he would like to have me for his wife? Is a
handsome face and honeyed tongue sufficient to gain my good graces,
even when it is backed by the wealth. I love and the position to which
I feel myself equal? I tell you you do not know Rhoda Colwell, if you
think she could be won easily. Days and days he haunted this room
before I let his words creep much beyond my ears. I had a brother who
needed all my care and all my affection, and I did not mean to marry,
much less to love. But slowly and by degrees he got a hold upon my
heart, and then, like the wretch who trusts himself to the maelstrom, I
was swept round and round into the whirlpool of passion till not earth
nor heaven could save me or make me again the free and light-hearted
girl I was. This was two years ago, and today--"
She stopped, choked. I had never seen greater passion, as I had never
seen a more fiery nature.
"It is his persistency I complain of," she murmured at last. "He forced
me to love him. Had he left me when I first said 'No,' I could have
looked down on his face to-day with contempt. But, no, he had a fancy
that I was his destiny, and that he must possess me or die. Die? He
would not even let _me_ die when I found that my long-sought 'Yes'
turned his worship into indifference, and his passion into constraint.
But--" she suddenly cried, with a repetition of that laugh which now
sounded so fearful in my ears--"all this does not answer your question
as to how I dared publish the insinuations I tacked up on the mill-door
this morning."
"No," I shudderingly cried.
"Ah! I have waited long," she passionately asserted. "Wrongs like mine
are very patient, and are very still, but the time comes at last when
even a woman weak and frail as I am can lift her hand in power; and
when she does lift it--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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